Wasted Days

Waste has piled up,
Years of not giving up,
Little kid, crew cut, crew
Of friends, time to bend,
Good times to apprehend,
Dressed to kill was the skill
At 17, when she saw the sunset
With me, with us, with the unit we
Were then—little again, little kid
Inside—older has become bolder,
Stronger now, it has grown on me,

The people close to me, every instagram
Isn’t a sham, I am what I am and love surrounds
Me—man can’t give what he has not received—
You called me, you called it free, even the demons
Were subject to you—and Satan has fallen around
Me, has tried to defeat me—I am not sentimental,
I am just existential, trust is essential—shall I rejoice
That I can cast out, or has death already been casted out
Of me? Faith, what is it that makes me well? What is the
Real hell, is it not being loved while thinking you have
Been loving? Houses they fall, for the waste will soon
Burn, I am not 17 again, I am 17 years away from maybe
Dying? Young we seem, lost in ideals, lost in the wheels

Of materials and the minerals that spin in them—this
Rotten earth, O, how creation groans daily! Evil it is on
The rise, the Son soon to beat the sunset—power, I want
It but what is the real miracle—we love, we give, we are
Accepted by you—young Jared never knew that kind
Of acceptance—now he sees that you have never left
Or forsaken—man is fallen, so was our youth—but in
The fields you will find me, plowing and working,
Preparing for the day when the sickle goes in and
Many are born again—don’t let me waste my youth,
Waste time, waste this precious dispensation called
Mercy!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s