I’m from the city:
Where angels don’t descend to help,
They’re in the corners getting higher.
No preaching, nor evangelism could convince
Heaven will not give them a chance and
Heaven is not rolled up in a piece of paper.
Because when in a room stories down,
Grace is lit on one end
Inhaled from the other,
As they mount five stories, no ladder
No wings,
Didn’t care that the lungs sing,
“Please, Stop!”
So I don’t advise praying.
At least, not to the ones ascending
Heaven sends help upon summons
But, your best bet is to face your own demons.
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