Dark Sticky Molasses Poem by Mark Heathcote

Dark sticky molasses, you have on me been fed
Now it's time to let me go free, run free
And live again; believe me, I was created-for-good
Though I've been duped and misunderstood.

Oh, I garden thoughts dark-molasses
They comfort me like a cloak of amethyst
They twist a cold knife in my insides
Oh Lord, I don't care for their dark vibes.

Oh, I garden thoughts dark-molasses
They sure aren't sweet-or-nice and much worse
They leave me, my head heady drunk.
Oh Lord, my heart and soul affronted.

Lord, if I don't have you in my life.
If I'm not blessed by-your-healing properties
If I'm not blessed by-your-healing powers
I'm left in these dark sticky molasses all the time.

Like-a-slave-whipped at the oars about to drown
Oh Lord, blow that conch seashell horn loud!
Fill my lungs with eternal clean air
And clear them dark clouds out of my head.

Oh Lord, plot me a new course
One with you where I laugh and cry
With never a dry eye
But always happy to nullify hurt pain with love again.