Hidden behind the veil of humor,
Lies the man in life’s stupor.
Couldn’t take a picture,
Without an elixir – I mean, filter.
Paranoid with perception,
Obsessed with perfection.
Always running from feeling;
Because if you sit in it too long, the world would be reeling.
Like the mad hatter,
It is only a matter,
Of opinion’s touchy bladder.
When dreams fall and shatter,
Or more likely, clatter,
To the ground,
When anxiety leaps and bounds.
People can’t see the darkness,
But it’s time to admit the journey,
You’re nowhere near a gurney.
Yet is not doubt something to pout about?
In a round-a-bout way,
Debate the theology of the day.
And politics. Liberty or socialism; even the pastors need justice.
Interesting the way we act.
Filter this and delete that.
Do you even recognize the man in the mirror?
With his angry sneer.
It’s as if he forgot where he came from.
And that the church has named him.
Retreated to slavery because it was familiar,
Freedom’s taste was forgotten and hope had grown rotten.
But he won’t leave your dreams at night;
Won’t leave without a fight.
So as we sit tonight,
May we see the light.
Dreams tell me it’s quite the sight,
And that your journey is quite alright.