This Life

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.