DYING

Men its been a while since I've written a poem,as a child i just wanted to write stories but some how my attention span could not just hold it after the third page i get so bored,thats why the poems seemed like a better deal,but sometimes i just cant help but feel they spawn the wrong notion,ah who cares any way!
well i wrote this poem a while back and after my girl friend saw it she sat me down for therapy!
do all poems reflect the psyche of their authors,can't i just write stuff for fun.
anyway enjoy

DYING

Liberty seems like a tall dream

I have been seeking it for an eternity

The chains no one can see hold me

When at the peak of my victory

I find my self captive

When can I be free from reoccurring habits

That seems to hold me so tightly

At first

Tenderly as the lioness baths her cub

Then with the fury of vengeance it grips me

I died yesterday

To live again today

But I keep on falling like a kid

Trying to work

But guilt the spikes I fall to

At the end

A question

Will I ever be free

Am I evil or merely a victim

Of a greed that spawns destruction

The resolutions of a thousand years

Every minute after it is born

It is broken

In this uncontrollable relapse

I seek peace with God

I seek redemption

I cloth my self with light

But my darkness

Not being seen

Destroys my inner being

The sun sets and raises

The clock completes its racing circuits

With its tick each second

Taking me closer

To a final destination

Perdition draws near to me

But I turn my face to the redeemer

I cry out

But can he hear

Is all the drama

Because I fear a mortal destruction

Mortal destruction is sure

As the laws that govern reality

But there seems to be immortal perdition

Staring at me

Yet I repent again

But this is getting creepy

The intensity of my plea

And repentance

Is directly proportional

To the next fall

Who will come and save me

Least I ask for help