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The Son That Grew From Lust.

I’m the son the grew from lust, my heart beat dust like a rust nail. I cursed the day I rush out the wound. To be consumed by hate. I’m doom to wait my salvation at state.

I’m the Son that grew from lust, I’m touch by hush. I try to push the tears out like rain clouds.

Lust, it’s such a crush to my soul; I don’t rush to the grave. Time is plush a mince to us. But, I don’t fight to get rid of this hurt that sink my heart, and leave me ajar.

Son, they say, “like father, like son”, but what makes a father leaves his son.
To battle with guns on the street, to battle with life that cheat, and to battle with hate that eat us.

poem by Junius Barnes
Added by Poetry Lover
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