THORNS AND THISTLES

THORNS AND THISTLES

In His merciful nature, 

cursed His wonderful creature.

Generation unborn to suffer

sins of the father 

Multiple sorrows at conception,

Nine months of gestation. 

Like a soldier fighting for survival,

I cut through my mother's placenta

with no armory 

As she wailed in agony.

For crimes not committed

to this penitentiary I was convicted.

 Morphing into a strong man

my mortal journey began.

Dawn till night fall I toil,

cursed is the soil, 

sweat all over my forehead,

before I eat bread.

So much stress till fever,

Sweet savior SATIVA.

Hustle and bustle, 

Thorns and Thistle,

the plants in my garden.

Searching for Eden,

guarded by cherubs with flaming swords 

as commanded by God.

The day of my rest,

The day of my death.