Joshua

Another day, another battle.
Back at Grove City College
Studying Computer Science
I Praise GOD for the Good. I Praise GOD for the Bad.
Trying to do what, I believe, GOD has made me to do.
Just trying to love life.
------------------------------- Poems -------------------------------
Love still.
Young and Naïve, this love, believes
That this love is love indeed.
Deprived, abused, this love, unused.
This love so still, unmoved.
This love it sleeps. This love, it weeps.
This love doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink.
This love, it thirsts, hungers, it works.
But this love, receives not what it’s due.
This love continues with expectations unmet.
And yet this love, it grows.
This love it grows, but not as it should.
This love’s woes, goading it forth how it would.
This love, this love, this love.
Many see this love, different as their own.
They don’t believe this love is love.
So this love, knowing full well that it is, is love.
It lives, it loves, this love.
It loves, it loves, but not like most loves,
Because this love has not lived amongst many loves.
Solitary, it loves. Alone, it lives.
With no love to help it grow in health.
So this love it goes, growing wildly, in stealth
And so this love has become its own self.
It’s self views love through a tinged lens knowing well It isn’t most loves.
This love, unique, this love, believes that this love
Its love, can be the best love, because this love can love like no other love.
So this love, its love, it uses, chooses, to love.
As it sees how love, should love. Should love. It should love, as it should have loved.
So this love, loves to do as it should.
It loves to love loves that it should.
So those loves can love love as they are.
They are love, and so they can love
As He was love.
It's been a ruff day, long week, and hard life.
I've got nothing to say...
No, I'm not alright...
My pride to lose,
Doin' ev'rything I can do...
Time to Cut loose
Hit the club, And
Improve my Attitude...
It's twenty-two in the place...
I'm executing in the round
Like there's a gun in your face...
Leave it on the floor,
Don't return a disgrace.
About to hit the bar
Quench my thirst with some grapes...
A shot a Ciroc
Will get my body to rock...
Deejay play that house beat
So this party can start
That electro sound powers these wings
That lift my feet of the ground..
Let the music elevate me
As the record spins round...
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“Folly’s Tool”
How many times must I remind you?
It’s like your hearings not too good
Or your memory doesn’t serve you correct.
I don’t mean to disrespect.
I’m just trying to get my point across before I disconnect.
But I don’t think you completely understand, Old man.
One would think you’d have some wisdom by the look of your hands.
But by the look of that face,
All that exits your mouth must have a bitter taste.
The vileness of a life gone to waste.
But I pity you.
You’re pitiful.
Folly’s tool,
Not even worth the words I use to ridicule.
Your whole philosophy needs to be replaced.
Because it is founded on mistakes
And propelled by lies.
The wickedness it takes
To do what you do and get by.
There is filth in your smile.
And hate in your eyes.
Darkness manifested in the man
And the child inside.
That’s why you return to your hole in which you constantly hide.
But I pity you.
You’re pitiful.
Folly’s tool,
Not even worth the words I use to ridicule.
The light definitely shines
But a shade is made
To replace the day with your necessary night
To cover your wrong with ostensible right.
A shadow hovering in the dark
To repudiate that which is Truth,
Excuse after excuse
to loose the noose that threatens you,
Proof of the Truth
is something you try to keep out of view.
So deception is used to move the perceptive two
to where you would like them to view.
So mirrors can do the job you purchased them to do.
Silence is something you love
And yet nothing you can seem to do.
But I pity you.
You’re pitiful.
Folly’s tool,
Not even worth the words with which I ridicule.
You need to get a clue.
Neglect the job you aren’t fit to do.
Expect the respect of one who earned the praise their due.
To put on the similitude of one who is reputable.
One who enjoys stripping a man of what makes him exceptional
Curse the blessings that flow
Through a river he didn’t shape.
Won’t hesitant to take
That which his hand didn’t make.
But I pity you.
You’re pitiful.
Folly’s tool,
Not even worth the words with which I ridicule.
One who is wont to intrude.
One who wants another to lose.
One who returns help with abuse.
One who scorns another’s views
One who seeks solace in another’s despondent slough.
But I pity you
You’re pitiful
Folly’s tool
Not even worth the words with which I ridicule.
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