Spit

You have no doubt,
So spit it out!
The jig is up,
Time for you to run,

You don't want to be
Another "Chosen One"
Ruled by the great slime below,
Always ready for a show
Of human degredation,
pain and misery...

You don't want to wind up,
Like me. corpse rotting
From the inside out

Dank, dark bones
cradled in it's
moist rotting grave.
Handful clasped with what
was once my soul,
Meaningless my living toll
Was pain in dispicable
deeds of harm and hurt
Most would say I don't warrent this dirt.
For it's too good for me.

The Black Arts come,
With a Black Art Price,
Beware it's appeal,
It will bite you twice


Walk away from this life
And it's devious joys,
Heaven holds
far richer toys.

It will be forever
For me to be forgiven
For all the misery I have created,
Even before the world was populated.

Spit it out!
Turn around and go!
Don't let gold and love,
Blind you so!

Black Arts come
With a Black Art Price
Don't fall into the clutches
Of your own sick vice.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2008

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace