PoetrySad Poems

Old Bottle, Sour Wine

My name is Emmanuel
But it doesn’t feel
Like God is with me
For I feel void even in His presence

My dad is a priest
We live in a mission
And I spent most of my days
In the chapel

But I live in a cave
Illuminated by darkness
I think I’m lost
In the hands of the dark one

I used to love
The book which has
The words of truth
For it gives me estatic joy

But now, I prefer
To dwell my life
On the papers of the community news
For the book of truth now brings me sleep

I used to kneel
For hours talking to the
Supreme with my eyes closed
And me, connected with him

But now
Even for five minutes
I need to fight for what
To say to the friend I once had

Though in church
They still see my as the man
Who communicates with the heavens
For I used to deliver messages from above

They still see me
As the mouthpiece of the most high
For I still command spirits out of humans
But not with new utterances but that which I have always had

I’m still seen
As the man of words
For my sermon still intrigues
But they never know I only edit the ones I had done before

I am now an old bottle
With sour wine
No new wine in me
But the old sour one

I am lost
Lost off the world of truth
Into the world of doom
Where I perish in silence

And the church still says,
“God bless you, brother,”
Not knowing those words are fire
Which burns me to the marrow.

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