I am the sound of silence, the echo
of emptiness amongst the heathens.
I stand tall on my belief, under the
secret pavilion of the most high I reside.
I saw it, and understood it; that a wicked
man is but a child that wants to be seen,
and praised for the storm’s he throws into
people’s lives.
I understood that a life of a man is
cheaper than a bubble gum, when the
taste of it is finished, one spit it out: and
throw it away; by the likeness of a wicked
man.
I was clearly told that a heart of a man is
wicked, but at that moment the scriptures
were forgotten, as some were erased from
the backup of my medulla oblongata.
I saw the tear’s flowing from the face of
a man of justice: ocean of tear’s running
down rivulet flooding on the wilderness,
while comfort was nowhere to be found.
The tear’s of the righteous flowed and
left the streams of pain and anguish:
Yet the believer always believed that
there will be vindication at some point.
Always believe in the midst of chaos,
surely comfort peace will beg it’s way
unto thine self no matter how long it
may take; “Don’t kill yourself but skill
yourself.”