The Glasses Of A Man Poem by Derek Kuborn

We are all shapes from a puzzle.
That fits right into his hand.
But he can't see the cover
Wearing the glasses of a man.
And the change we seek is coming.
We're all ready to succeed
As the men walk with their rifles
Through the kingdom of disease.
The hummingbirds stop humming
As the trees fall to their knees.
This is what I see for our future.
Beggars wanting to believe.
We're at war with our souls
They're waiting patient for relief
But we keep telling them to go on
Like a bum that needs to feed.
My father begged for me to pass
On our name with my seed
But the future won't be coming
And we all needed to sleep.
The clouds pour out my sorrow.
For the man we all once were
But now we pray to entertain
The lack of gospel in our words.