Mismanagement

My Joan of architecture is like a Harvard lecture

Far from lesser, verbal mathematical endeavours

Bar acrobatics and other tactical gestures

Brothers and Sisters, taking sabbatical measures

Another scripture mystery solved though vectors

Another snake slithering across an angels feathers

Satan’s on our ankles but the cross is better

Saint Michael the Arc Angel beheading the lesser

Armageddon’s and Holy Wars

Alms we betting are only chores for the Lord

For a clean slate on our imageless plates

With blood of squished grapes from the place

Where the first miracle was laid into the face

Of His mother who raised him knowing his fate

But owning her strengths, beholding her ranks

I flip like a table in a synagogues bank

I feel like Nicodeamus if you let me be frank

The Jesus in the desert setting serpents straight

Yoking perpetrators actions for Holy satisfaction

When faith is still a fraction of eternal relaxin’

Still we paint a mural of false contraptions

Of belief systems in plural forms of collapsin’

Blastin’ em onto youths in groups we choose

And fuse the rules of the book into their shoes

Where the uncouth humans onlook you and drool

Religion deemed uncool by new political views

Seemed like Christian’s are in the few too

Gradually decreasing cause of hypocrisy and you

And me too, the same seculars who heckle the Jews

The Muslims, the Jains, the Christians and Budd’s

Dividend Society from dividing and conquering

Unaligned Holy sobriety drying out from compliments

Replaced with a screen full of TV award accomplishments

I sit back spitting syntax reading my Vonnegut

Riff raft on this track needing out of this continent

But each landmark is equally getting bombed with

Lies and false prophets, money laundering and profits

Off with the same money they treated to the hospice

I told my Lord that I never had really want this

But now I’m all for/four it like some quadrants

 

Save the anthology righteously emitted

Amongst the stars but I still feel omitted

Amongst the bars but I’m real conflicted

Should I have children or save them from life?

Could I raise them different and make ‘em right?

If I had a child, would he be alright

Would he write or smoke trees out at night

Under city lights where under him lays sewage pipes

Or will I make them overthrow the government for spite

Of all their discourse and their troublesome-like

Mind that is binding with headless people alike

Will my kid bring a revolution to ignite

All the people, rich or poor, left or right?

I guess that’s my choice I have in my voice

A girl or a boy, which will fill the world's poise?

If I choose to not move forward with an offspring

I’ve aborted him already as a boy, it’s haunting

But I wanna stay jauntily hopping in this noise

Of the rivers music waves filling gaps and voids

Life will shape you, discover your trapezoid

 

So question, can God really manage?

Did he act outlandish when we didn’t meet standards

Turning the city of New Orleans to Atlantis?

Was that mismanaged or perfectly branded?

When the school was was getting fired in it

Did God walk in it and halt the gunman’s spittin?

Columbine, my question is if God quit it

Let the cowards take life of the young children

Or do we not know God’s plan and visions

Maybe it was for the good, you ask how, now listen

Full of sins in the city of N.O, hookers and indo

They overlooked the booked, until it was forgotten

And God was just disposing of the rotten

But the kids that passed as a consequence

Ruffles my feathers, there coulda been another option then

Taking lives away, but He’s the all-seeing obelisk

And when the bullets fired…

If God stopped them, would they have gotten more attire

More ammunition, heavier guns, with more gunfire

In a more populated school where more folks were fired

At, what do we know except me keeping the beat go

Rapping all this just to keep my feet rose

Above the clouds, my knees just love the sound

Of when I walk around, talking to the town

Becoming more than a voice box of sound

Becoming a mogul for both the wise and clowns