Dalton Ogletree Poet Rhyme

Still Searching 4

I’ve been digging through the dust of forgotten gods,
Where halos rot and angels nod.
The holy light feels like façade —
Even heaven’s gates got broken locks.
The ground still trembles with the screams of time,
I taste the rust of a world in decline.
The truth ain’t gold — it’s dirt and grime,
Buried deep beneath mankind’s crime.
I’ve prayed to skies that never spoke,
Lit candles just to watch them choke.
Faith feels rigged, like an inside joke,
Where the sinner wins and the saint stays broke.
I drowned in mercy, I choked on grace,
Saw my reflection with a stranger’s face.
Each prayer I whisper leaves no trace —
Only echoes lost in empty space.
The soil’s alive — it breathes my fear,
It feeds on blood, it whispers near:
"You’ll find your truth, but not up here —
You’ll have to dig where death draws near."
I’ve seen prophets profit, truth for sale,
Turn paradise into private jail.
They preach of light but drink from hell,
Then sell your soul with a holy smell.
The stars above look burnt-out, blind,
God’s silence drives men out their mind.
If Heaven’s real, it’s cruel by design —
The divine’s reflection is mankind.
My thoughts are serpents, my dreams are graves,
The peace I crave’s the chain I gave.
Each word I write, a soul I save,
Each rhyme I spit, a sin engraved.
I wear my scars like sacred art,
Each one a prayer that fell apart.
The light’s a myth; the dark’s the heart —
God lives where the shadows start.
I’ve learned redemption costs your crown,
The higher you rise, the harder you drown.
Truth ain’t found — it hunts you down,
And buries you six feet underground.

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