I hate to dabble,
but my poetry is full of babble.
Holes are in my inking,
some of my poetry be stinking.
I get too word courting,
then self reporting.
Some of us tell all our affairs,
even our monster stares.

What are you affraid of OnePoet,
or do you know it?
I'm afraid too suffer to death,
not just die from bad health.
I'm afraid of breaking down,
busting my butt on the ground.
With no rescue around,
no one hearing my crying sound.
I also have this fear of
a frozen grace,
no more laugh and smile face.
My ace is my fun,
I need it like the sun.

I fear my poetry in verse,
it seems to be a curse,
each day the babble gets worse.
I no longer care about perfection,
only truth in correction.
I can not cure my ills,
putting on phony front thrills.
I kick my azz with the boot,
it takes me right to the root.

I could swear I write too cure,
a heart and soul not so pure.
Deep down inside,
my souls on a ride.
The devil got me oneway,
God knows my evil sway.
Most can't truly confront,
but I just get blunt.

I got a lot of devil in,
but more God to defend,
God knows my sin,
even before I begin.
I know my sin,
even before I begin.
The devil plays on my sin,
but can't figure how too win.
God hates my resolve,
but aids in my solve.

I'm thoroughly familar with
my attractions,
but I control my fractions.
I represent the world,
a good and bad pearl.
My good out weighs,
my bad azz ways.

I'm glad!

One