Poetry by Brandon Ezzard

In this day and age we’ve messed up, having unlearned the true history,
but meditating on God’s Word will make you a new person mentally,
physically, spiritually, emotionally, morally,
give you the courage to fight ignorance through informing others
who would stay warm in their covers, starving themselves of truth,

if a man walked on hot coals it would result in melting shoes,
falling asleep, leaving the one in a coma that’s medically induced.

But Jesus came to wake us up. He went through hell to give life to the walking dead,
endured a living nightmare to wake up those living with insomnia,
who’ve been abandoned by parents, and are spiritually indoctrinated,
taught by and raised on TV, lonely socially like they’re locked in the basement,
given gaming systems, controllers, and a shelf where all the videogames fit,
which they’re rotting their brains with, leaving them emotionally plagued, sick,
vices forms of idolatry, going by cycles and they’re not
bikes equipped with training wheels,
yet are riding on the highway to hell,

develop a dependency for such to not depart from such vodka and Jager,
become psychologically wasted,
high-minded, hooked to alcohol, snagged by the bait, dragged away,
then taken captive by streams they’re longing to break from,

mobile cells, hand-cuffed, bars that they’re chained too,
taken under arrest by society which swallowed the key, put cement blocks attached to metal on their ankles and threw them into what they want to be their watery grave-pit.

So they’re kept up at night by what they do, withdrawing from what they should have withdrawn from long ago,
thoughts a drip-drop, tossing and turning like bobbing and weaving while boxing with a brawling woman.

These activities are like weapons that draw blood,
and are aimed at your sons and daughters,
who are looked at by wicked men and satan like a lottery they can win,
who want them spend to their lives having them spend their life like the money they’re making.

Thus, to get what they want they come at you like a man robbing a bank clerk,
with no care for their safety because by that time they already hate life.

Talk to them while they’re preoccupied; yeah, they’ll nod but they can’t hear,
headphones on, looking at you but through you like you’re not even there,
inwardly, filled with anxiety, outwardly, calmly with a blank stare,
lacking spiritual breath, sack-lunch paper-bag not in the hand but by this time over the head, depriving the body when taking breaths
of oxygen they need, which is why they’re always blue.

Truly, those who are broken want to break all the rules,
don’t know how to cope with life, in turn take guns to school,
stay in an awful mood,
facial expression like they ate awful food.

Self-destructive, walking with anger,
ask them why they do what they do, even they don’t know,
it does not even make sense,
but whether jogger or rapist, we all need His graces,
Jesus died for us all, He’s longing to save us.

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About poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.
This entry was posted in 2018 Poetry, new poetry, poet, poetry, Poetry Festival, Uncategorized and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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