The Son That Grew From Lust. Poem by Junius Barnes

I’m the son the grew from lust, my heart beat dust like a rust nail. I cursed the day I rush out the wound. To be consumed by hate. I’m doom to wait my salvation at state.

I’m the Son that grew from lust, I’m touch by hush. I try to push the tears out like rain clouds.

Lust, it’s such a crush to my soul; I don’t rush to the grave. Time is plush a mince to us. But, I don’t fight to get rid of this hurt that sink my heart, and leave me ajar.

Son, they say, “like father, like son”, but what makes a father leaves his son.
To battle with guns on the street, to battle with life that cheat, and to battle with hate that eat us.