(Humanity Poem) If I Am Mister Average, Lord Please Help Us All

IF I AM MR. AVERAGE, LORD PLEASE HELP US ALL

 

Do you remember your first time you remember remembering, anything

Aw what an enticing question, one that can open many kinds of deep scars

At about two or three we realize that the world is crazy, and our family too

At what age is it that a child looks in the mirror to ask what have I gotten in too

We all talk to ourselves, sometimes is it because we are the only sane one we see

Raised with the switch, the belt, it’s buckle and lot’s of adults who turn their face away

Strong alcohol on the breath, hands, and heart of the aggressive, hate filled offender

 

Beat your children with hate and glee in your heart and in your eyes, raise um up right

Be a real man, teach your children nothing, can’t let them think they can do better than you

When a parent’s mind and Soul are deeply bruised and damaged how do the children succeed

Think of the children, they feel the heat of the rage as a daily pattern trying to stay alive

Almost 60 before the first home bought cuz the life of a Gypsy on the roads I have lived

56 Over worked, broke down, jolted by juice, two ex-wives and three Brides, quite a ride

 

I pray that the majority are wiser in the paths of life than my feet have chosen to walk

During persecution as a child I was blessed to see The Light, has He visited my life

I have lived a solitary life caring little for this worlds toys and the games people play

I do pray that all of my classmates in my life are happy and monetarily wealthier than I

I pray that before any die, all my friends and loved ones, even those who hate me, see His Light

Lord please help us all, if I am truly the average American male my age within these latter days

Pray your blessed like I with a Bride who is well pleased living with me in Hillbilly paradise

Our schools function to teach the kids to be spokes in a chain, to grow up to be, just average

 

Battle Of The Bulge

Of  yesterday and today the meaning is not the same

Both are war, both are hell, neither a game for the meek to play

Not now a tank we do stare down, nor goon squads dancing upon our throats

Tis a battle where once proud chests we did hold high

The enemy now our mirrors showing them resting upon our thighs

This battle of the bulge of which I now speak

Is today the weight of our bellies, butts, and thighs

Today we only exercise our thumbs

Upon the latest store bought game we play

Today if we walk at all, it’s just to the fridge to reload

We can now even buy the bulge within our pants

Just break your piggy and give the Drug Store man your change

Our modern world is built upon luxury

As our ever falling bellies do profess

Is it any wonder why our frames are in distress

We buy our garments way to big

We hide our flab in the way we dress

Will we even fit in the box when they lay us down to rest

When we all die at thirty-five

Of diabetes and heart disease?