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This is the new testament;

God said cover me
take the bullets & as you fall cast no shadow –
we’ve no sympathy for martyrs
even to the people who stand to witness the end of a hero;
The re- birth of a world with nothing but its history.
So I compose for a little while; musing with a smile,
I'm not John Holt, they call me God’s problem child
it’s my world, I’ll pray if I want too
still...I've got commitments,
a world won’t build it's self
it take's effort & as I fall my dreams
slip threw the sands of our time,
damn that stigma;
I’d take your hand but I'm unholy
and buildig an oasis - sitting in wonder of the wall-s
I had created.
Then drink to sober up, turning wine – into more wine –
divine times I am having.
A crown made of thorns are heavier than they look,
crimson, clover field, made – for me.
My mothers gaze burns into the back of my neck aching from the weight of the world;
or should I say the weight of people
so mother, you’re not helping with your stern gaze,
it must be lovely to be so holy though, do you always have to show it?
constantly taking my dreams & crushing them like my spirit
you know Pontius...I never understood him
he saw a man, a chance, a good thing!
people smiled with excitement of a King;
back in the day I was bigger than Elvis
so what does Mary know?
She’s untouchable, right –
never done wrong, never sinned
the only woman in this town to wear white!
Great at judging, throwing stones and never missing;
lately I’ve been missing my thoughts
they went with the tide, washed away with my own blood.
my body of Christ has given up!
21 hours in scorning sunlight is enough for any man
still…

In my mind, I am a king;

what good is faith anyway?
 

- nothing that can’t be learned from a book.

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