I’ve started sharing my poetry,
and I think I’ve concerned a few—
friends, family—
they didn’t see the blue, blue, blue
sadness
that sits quietly in my lingering,
spilling out in these poems.

It was never my goal,
but the sadness likes to speak,
wants to say what is true:
that the sadness still exists,
a deep, deep
blue, blue, blue.

I am a Christian, what is wrong with that?
You make me look like some kind of rat
Why are you so hateful?
This time that I take to convince you isn't wasteful

I love Jesus, I love God
But some people think this is odd
I don't know why they act like this is new
When everything I preach is actually true

"Jesus loves me so
For the Bible tells me so
Little ones to Him belong
They are weak but He is strong"

A new generation
or a carry-forward
of the past
what are we?

Have we just
put on new clothes
to be different
but grasped

by what went before?
is civilisation a mere mask?
If we're mere copies
how would our virtues last?

It will only be
a new generation
if the past were cast
to oblivion- in this alone we'll trust

Living
if  you call it living

vicariously
through  you

a passenger on  every
trip

where
you always drove