Would there be no rest for me
As I toil through the day
For I am weary now from the toil
And would it have its way
Would I stand up and face the storm
As it chills me to the core
For I am needed not to faultier
But give me rest I do implore
Would I be judged for what I lack
I will only wonder why
As I turn my face up to the sky
And tears not flow from my eyes.
© Paul Warren Poetry
I drank my words from the cup of evil lately not holy water
Like many I sit in my dungeon of doom on earth trying not to my addictions faultier
I'm sitting knee deep in the shitted down reservation sewer street water
Im looking for wisdom daily with sinners with calls that I shouldn't be trying to call her
I know I be looking for a life filled with silver and gold when I know Im living in copper
I know I got a crazy coming my way so I best get on trying to stop her
I remember the first time I was in love with lust when I first saw her
I know without the water in my life I would scream silent as I would quietly holler
I know I been like a bunny moving around in life that sometimes people call me a hopper
I know I been kicking it in the field so much that people tell me I should start playing soccer
I should be more of an actor of actions and less more of a talkitive talker
I know I got what I got so I will be a poet that will never ever faulteir
There once was a time
When everything was real.
When hope was abundant.
When it hurt to feel.
That time has come and gone
Nor shall it be found.
Buried by the purpose,
Rotting with in the ground.
Waiting for the fall,
That feast upon your feet.
Causing you to faultier,
Demands your defeat.
But once you’ve gone looking
Only then you’ll see.
What it is that you,
Come forth too scared to be.