Modern-day cutting-edge flourishes to the rubble.
Often at day break lost in the jumble,
And when the moon sets my idioms begin to mumble.
Born from blunder, not once been cuddled.
Shreds conceal my funny figure, soon to crumble
As I entreat to the shadows,
Of those who count my flows.
Oh dear friend!!! do not marvel at my unholy fumble
Pay no mind to my ill-mannered fable
As I elude myself into this puzzle,
Overlook that I come from the jungle.
If tomorrow finds me I might just saddle off,
To eternity and urge this dust to settle
Mother Earth can embrace whatever is left of,
What my tears seized, which that was splashed off
By the pours of heaven that drizzled,
Relentlessly down on my desiccated soul and tempered jaws.
Sweet Lord for this I ask,
That you gently let it torrent on me and overlook my past
My speech is untamed for one too many times I’ve been lonely.
Whatever I lay my hands on, turns into rust,
And my actions are intimidating, somewhat phony.
Gently sermonize my make-up and if needs must,
Search inside my wicked heart and deal with me wholly,
That I may rest my pangs and return to dust.