and I pray for God to send his love
as the sanguine sun gets lost above.
He asked me frankly: tired or sick?
Searched my soul but couldn't pick.
Oh, drooping eyes and nodding heads
like wilted flowers in sunken beds.
Anointed soil, a gift from God
to keep the sickman standing strong.
Lonesome man, strangest land;
Caged up beast the world has damned.
But I don't need no other man
to help me through forsaken lands,
and I don't need no girl to free
the deepest part that lies in me.
No, I don't need no one to see.
I'm just fine with God in me.
Within the blood that holds my veins,
my God is there. I'm not ashamed.
"More people write poetry than read it."