If you don't know, I'm writing a book. NO, not about me--lol--but a fictional urban novel with a hard poetic twist (work with me here, lol).
A Hustler's Prayer
What Happened? I listened to my hunger pains and drown out the screams....sirens yelling...grown men begging for their last breaths...my ears bleed from thoughts of past demons scratching to the surface of my mind. I'm pained by their faces; the irreplaceable monsters. My calloused hands shield my eyes...red...blood-shot...
I drop my face into these rough pillows, allowing me seconds of serenity--Got to stay up...alert...focused..
My hands can't even make up their mind...These tools of turmoil aren't even consistent; one moment choking bullets from a gun, the next cradling my anguished mind, my weathered face. The equalizer--Paper...currency...money--the root of evil...the thing that most live and die for...or over....
These tired eyes have seen a lot, Lord, maybe too much...So much that the people don't have names, faces hold no identity and names, well, who knows any body's REAL name anymore?? I remember better things faintly, but it is not my reality, Lord...See, it starts off looking forward. You have your goal, although there's no evidence it exists, only in your mind, seems attainable, something you can realistically reach with work. We trust in you almost the same way...
Between us and that finish line lie many snares, tricks, and traps and our only instructions being "To trust..."..."to live right..." From here, those looking, longing eyes fall, they lose focus to the crevices and ditches...The path, once being so clear, Lord,disappears before your eyes....your head aches and eyes water from straining for the light you just saw! Just a glimpse of that goal that you KNOW is there and a sliver of daylight for some kind of guidance, Lord...The space is shrinking, the burden of the load--which as been building for some time--is so much heavier with the quick, panicked breaths you take...The bills piling...LORD, my arms ache...my fam struggles to eat...LORD, my legs are buckling...mommy says i gotta be tough--not only to be a man but because she can't afford to stay at home and miss the money for the bills or food--not both....Dammit Lord....
By this time, your knuckles are raw from fighting day-to-day...your back aches from the times you had to flee from danger and your ribs show from malnutrition...muscles; lean and ironically strong although you feel feeble...You scrape your knees on the fall to the ground. The only thing full are your eyes, dilated wide shut from the lack of light and the abundance of tears. With smudged souls and heavy hearts we search for YOUR face. Made in your image, we look for the familiar features...Please Lord...
These now roughed hands clutch the Earth as the tears painfully fall from our dry eyes...They would rather free-fall into oblivion than witness the pain-the tears...Please Lord...gimme the strength-wait-you notice those are not just your tears...the rain ensues and something on the inside breaks, maybe it is a piece of your sanity or your spirit, but what you do know there is something gone...and you start to fear-not what you lost, but, rather, what you are to become...
"Padre..."
What does that goal look like anymore? What does that dream look like? When was the last time you ACTUALLY dreamed? Then I ask myself, "...did I have a choice in my own dream?" Who says I have to go through this to get to there--then you embrace the demon...the turn..
"Padre, forgive me for I have sinned..."
Forgive me for the sins yet to come because i don't know when i will be back...or if i will be back...or how i will be when we speak again...but we will...
"Thank you Padre...Gracia'Dios....father-my confession."
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feed back, please...
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