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Poem Title:

Poem

This 
life 
is 
Killing 
me, 
I 
hope 
it 
burries 
me 
soon.  
I 
cannot 
surrender, 
like 
a 
weary 
soldier 
in 
a 
platoon. 
Carry 
the 
moon, 
that 
is 
your 
burden 
forever,but 
you'll 
want 
to 
cast 
it 
away 
like 
a 
demon 
very 
soon. 
Troubles 
are 
big, 
like 
the 
giant 
winds 
of 
Southern 
Asia, 
on 
top 
of 
your 
head 
they 
continuously 
monsoon. 
Guns 
blazing, 
echoing 
the 
troubled 
screams 
of 
our 
sisters, 
getting 
destroyed 
by 
South 
Africa's 
loved 
tune. 
Rastafarians 
getting 
restricted 
from 
touching 
ganja 
by 
"Babylon", 
because 
jail 
cells 
might 
be 
prescription. 
And 
need 
I 
mention 
the 
hungry 
suffering 
on 
the 
Freestate 
streets, 
that 
get 
mocked 
daily 
by 
every 
passerby. 
The 
thing 
of 
government 
job 
creation 
is 
a 
yearly 
lullaby. 
Satanism 
fills 
the 
township 
streets 
at 
night 
like 
police 
brutality 
by 
day. 
We 
cannot 
break 
bread 
with 
the 
wealthy 
man 
because 
unemployment 
systems 
program 
our 
minds 
anyway. 
Should 
we 
just 
throw 
in 
the 
towel 
like 
Pontius 
Pilate, 
or 
hang 
ourselves 
like 
Judas 
Iscariot 
when 
we 
see 
the 
chariot 
of 
hunger 
behind 
governmental 
color 
blinds. 
Or 
should 
we 
march 
onwards 
like 
an 
honest 
troop 
of 
Spartans, 
fighting 
for 
our 
conscious 
righteousness? 
Rebelling 
against 
such 
poetic 
mastery 
is 
like 
throwing 
yourself 
off 
the 
balconies 
of 
life 
to 
show 
your 
state 
of 
worthlessness. 
I'm 
just 
mentioning 
this. 
Because 
killing 
yourself 
after 
raping 
your 
little 
daughter 
is 
not 
a 
feeling 
of 
hopelessness. 
Churches 
taught 
you 
how 
to 
fear 
man 
better 
than 
God,but 
never 
taught 
of 
the 
awesome 
powers 
you 
possess. 
Jah 
Bless.

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