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#Bryson Andres Feat. Allen Soule - Bunker of Soule# |
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As I sit here in the bunker of my thoughts, |
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I count the enormity of my choices that have been following me to the path of no return. |
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My unchecked thoughts which manifested into my awakening activities have dug a hole so big |
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that it could swallow a city of angels. |
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God, |
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I fear my luck has run out and I don't think I'm going to make it out of here alive. |
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The bullets fly unseen, yet their sounds remind me of angry wasps coming for their intended prey. |
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Mortars. |
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which I tough were on the good side, |
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my side, |
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torn the flesh away from my comrades,without warning, |
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making muscle into mush. |
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The dark, |
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frumpy ground smells unlike anything |
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that I've ever known before, |
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Felling this threatening moment so intense, |
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terrified of death, pounding at the door way into my soul. |
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This may be my last stand, an unreached potential, stewing remnants in a half open coffin. |
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I pray louder explosions going on around me. |
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Not my life ending in deluding frightenings. |
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I recalled my past a long time ago when I believed in kindness, compassion, sweetness, joy and fairness. |
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Life was gentle, |
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not harsh, |
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and it was forgiving. |
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My soul conveyed a message of peace to itself, |
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that my intelligence was only taking my imaginationto the next level and anything was possible |
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if I only believed it and wanted it deeply enough. |
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The ground moved sharply, appropriately from the storm of man's breath |
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and inner conflict shaking me back into this reality. |
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God, |
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will You not save me from my own choices which have gotten me to my wrong destination. |
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If there is a miracle to be head of lord,in this great big Universe, it's not too late to show me |
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Your way. |
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I have dug a pit of unconscious complexities so large |
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that even Einstein would find this problem provoking. |
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How did I end up like this? |
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The though cycles, recycles through my mind defining the crimes of those somewhere outside of my vision. |
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Yet, |
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if I truly quiet my mind and breathe deeply into my heart, |
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even for a moment, calm prevails. |
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I can hear their pain and fell their suffering moving though the Earth's crust, |
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Their're yelling, pleading, calling out for different rimes and reasons, |
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yet their meaning is all the same. |
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Their words are computer sounds, |
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but somehow find their way through my bleeding ear drumbs. |
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"Please, someone help me!" |
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"Medic!!" |
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"Get the preacher man!" |
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I pray, only to hear the words |
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"Draw Back" |
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from someone of authority. |
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But this tow would be suicide. |
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I am hopelessly trapped. |
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A voice more reasonable succumbs: "Somehow, soldier |
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you pitied yourself against the world and someway a shape performed". |
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I don't remember doing so. |
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And if somehow this were true, |
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How did I do it, |
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Why would I do it? |
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It's not right to hurt yourself. |
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Crazy people only do that. |
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And we protect crazy people from hurting themselves, |
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Right? |
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So I thought. |
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God, |
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keep the last pieces of my sanity connected to my skull. |
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A flare travels skyward into the everless can cave me above |
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a light of hope or an invitation for more death? |
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I pull my hip lower than it possibly could go. |
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Under the current circumstances |
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I presume the latter. |
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I wish I had the capacity to think differently, |
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but basic training has removed my independence, |
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Most, |
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if not all, |
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My purity, |
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And made me co-depended |
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And regretfully soul. |
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Slowly the fragments of light bit at the veil of darkness as it drifted downward showing a stage of death |
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I didn't want to look at. |
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My thoughts seemed so important and precious now. |
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Why had it take me so long for me to ask |
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suck simple questions my soul wanted to know? |
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#Bryson Andres Feat. Allen Soule - Bunker of Soule# |
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-END- |
