James Lewis Poet Rhyme

Resurrection

One quick snap I'm cognizant, no standing in this 
place, in pitch black dark I lay can't see my hand 
before my face,

my wingspan's non existent, cushioned wood up by 
my head, the sayers nay have fine'lly gone and 
buried me for dead.

They should've checked my pulse before they shut 
the coffin top, attempts to leave me like they do these 
young'ns off the block,

but haters are so sloppy otherwise they'd know for 
sure, my heart is truly still before the final coup de 
jour.

I don't know how much time has passed since I was 
buried deep, the casket lid is weak, I feel the dirt and 
moisture seep,

through cracks unseen, it's blasphemy to think that 
I'd succumb, I'll resurrect my being cause I'm 
nume'ro dos to none.

I use my knees to break apart the lid atop my cage, 
the soft'ning soil drizzles down onto my suit clad 
frame,

I claw my way through earth ignoring parts that 
scream with pain, my right hand breaks the plain to 
feel the rush of streaming rain.

The nighttime air is filled with all the power of my 
core, they left me dead and buried so I'll give them 
all what for,

and resurrect myself to fit the image of the gods, a 
total metamorphasis in spirit, mind and bod.

My words will wrap around you like a python, 
squeeze you tight, enough to make your ribcage 
splinter til you bleed inside,

don't hide behind requests for mercy, it was meant 
to be, which may convincingly convert my friends to 
enemies.

Committed sins I will atone to climb life's hill alone, 
with skills from off the dome I turn my foes to 
skinless bones,

a mind as warped as mine will kill em all and steal 
the throne, decapitate the king and have his 
cabbage sealed in stone.

I sit now on my grave with fractured personalities, 
there's Donald Rhymus, Tony Stanza, JD's R.I.P.,

I then begin to scream out to the thunderstorm I see, 
like Al Pacino on the steps, the end, GodFather 3,

I'm not a joker still, wait til they get a load of me!

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