Trampled Brethren

With uncertainty i ink my final thoughts on unlit blocks
 Niggas caught on heron nods
 Stil at odds with false gods of archaic age.
 Angelic face wretched with pain ignites my flame.
 Your mundane daily life amazes me
 Such complacency.
 Tattered city once brimming with life now sits abandoned
 Some feel these thoughts to random
 I hand them their empty heads as main coarse to davinci's last supper
 As they sit in wonder.
 Abundant sun pours over ald steel and bricks
 Filling my aching eyes till they split.
 I felt my earth shift, contort, and twist.
 Lift heavy brow to view what happened to my tiny corner of dirt.
 Worthless soul too old to care
 As despair builds thick amongst my people.
 From burnt steeples hear distant toll of bells
 Ancient tongue swells as one lumbers with prenatal language.
 Manage a coarse throaty mumble to convey how this earth crumbles.
 I tumble, close to where i've been a million times before
 Free to ignore pain which pounds at human temples.
 I resemble less of a man and more the dirt i tread on.
 To my trampled brethren,
 Heaven won't accept you!
 Either you or it don't exist.
 Consider that a gift
 As we walk through that mist filled vally
 Vulnerable souls tell tales of ill proportions
 Scorching ra soothing moon, soon to dim
 My travels at an end, light bends to dark
 Jagged crossed sticks manhandled as scripture and art
 Picture your christ as blond and blue eyed,
 As mine resides within confines of empty glass bottle.
 Robbed of youth i wobble past society and rest my head on curb of reality,
 If only for a nap,
 To grasp for that which we lack.
 Remain trapped in these three dimensions
 Mention i once stepped past, now viewed as insane.
 Trained human pets scurry to cubical for food pellets.
 Next funeral for those who think, cause thoughts are relics.
 I smell this viscous odor on each face i meet,
 Seems humanity reached peak in 20th century.
 My jaded eye strains to see through a smoke-filled room.
 Consumed by books which speak of our past
 At last begin to piece together our beginnings
 With few fleeting seconds till our end,
 Quickly cross that bridge you bum,
 See what's on the other shore.
 It's lure magnetic
 In our drunken minds
 Poor feeble shell hoping for so much more
 Left entranced by ancient dance of emptiness.
 Few are the blessed who feed on truth's breast.