Dead Oil Of This Soil Poem by Curtis Mosby

Dead oil of this soil we become when the
world is done with us.
Our only use know is to be recycle to help life
as our corpse feeds the apostle.
Don't mean to be so hostile mighty child of the crops.
I was that dust that settle in the parking lot.
Until the birth of me I agree life seem better on the
inside.
Though no shoulder I lean on her heart when my
tears can't seem to dry.
My eye's can see the pain that America causes, you can't
stay careful in a state of panic.
I must give it to the plan of a drug epidemic that
keeps the violence at a high rate.
Publish these words before the ink settle and i
hope it create a movement hot enough to heat your tea kettle.
As old soul lie in the hospital waiting die.
Let me tell you why we lose it's death to the end.
There no peace or signal of it so push the antenna in
and unwrap the foil.
Because if you know it are not we are the dead oil of this soil.