‘Rockaby at 45’

I say forty-five because there’s no telling, I guess it depends on how fast I was peddling

Riding with no PPE but with the flow of traffic, I thought being half-right would lead to less havoc

The impact ripped off their side mirror, and my bike is a pretzel, it reminisced those times cruisin’ the mall chowing at Wetzels

Four more inches and my soul would’ve been set free, I forgive you, earthling. and settle for the additional PTSD

Over the weekend I had to rest my ass, fragile at times, yet, don’t tread on me I can be sharp as glass

Listening to my chu peeps rapping their rhymes, if only they knew I admired them, cause we think along the same lines

In Iraq, I remember those times when we just needed a break, and Jaime’d be right there with an open fire cooking the squad some steak

Till this day I’d give the shirt off my back; Civilians and folks on the streets wouldn’t give you their own spit, it’s obvious now-a-days these zombies don’t give a shit

I thank God for everything good, including the bad and grim, brings us both a bit closer to Him

You may believe by my writings that In retaliation I’d cast a spell, they’re likely already living on Earth in their own personal hell

Jaime’s calm, no animosity, no police report, I don’t snitch, I grew up near D.C and momma didn’t raise no little bitch

It was beyond you to look back, let alone turn around; I don’t punch down, I’m a sucker for punishment, I consume it by the pound

I can read more about a person when they let their emotions over-ride, I leave it to the God in me to be my spirit guide

Don’t be hard on them my three-letter agencies, the asleep only prove their sense of complacency

I brushed the dirt off, got dog food, made it to the store, and trekked the five miles back even though still sore

Hopefully my writings can lower the soldier number from twenty-two a day down to nineteen, giving hope to them if their day-to-day seems unseen

I desire to live the next ninety years, or if up to you, I am not, God decides when Him and I tie the ultimate knot

Holding my head still high without any permanent contusion, how many times do I have to write loss is an illusion

Today folks are short-sighted while they grasp for crumbs, if only they knew they could change the tides with strokes from their thumbs

Getting rocked at 45 on the road while unifying religion from my last post comes with a price, creating meaning from the chaos is the true meaning of Christ