I named this literature convictus after I agreed with my spirit that it was finished. Reason being is because I kept thinking of the poem Invictus as I was writing it. The irony is that the poem is about conviction. So i looked up the definition of invictus and read that it meant "unconquered". I also looked up the word conviction and read it meant..admittance and realization of sin. I decided to combine the two and birth a new word with a new meaning:
Convictus
(con-vic-tus)
meaning: undefeated through realization of sins.
Because we have realized where we have fallen short we are no longer defeated by the enemy. Instead we have opened the door labeled "hope" which behind lies the path we are to walk in: faith.
All glory to God! Enjoy!
CONVICTUS
As I sit, lay, not moving just staying...stagnant, no progression, yet regression is capturing me. My heart, mind., thoughts, life aren't where they need to be because HIS words are the total opposite of what I see...am I seeing, really seeing as the light moves past my pupil through my cornea or is it astigmatism; racism against the truth...I don't digest but regurgitate to reclaim my flesh-ly state of mind of being behind; no forerunning just following as the wind blows to whom I sold my soul for the murky, dark smoke that I thought was a pure dream and seemed to be good...now could or should I stay...is there even an option of walking away...or am I locked in a daze...yet I crave to be free but have no idea of how to unshackle me...from what I don't know…Is it me or what I see, maybe what I feel? In my thoughts I am caught; even lost but don't how I’m figuring out that right now I’m sinking... slow yet fast... and though my foot isn't on the gas I plunge… deeper; no brake to be found...I’m awake but can't stop myself from hitting the ground..rock bottom will be where I rest in peace...or restlessness...how do I get me out of this mess...or this test/quiz I need to pass because right before me my life just flashed...I can't press pause. I can't press rewind...where in the [hell] is the stop button; I'm running out of time. Maybe if I break open the clock everything will stop...including me? But I want life so that can't be right...not in my will…I haven't even begun to write...so who is the author, composer or for the lack there of "playwright"...of this nightmare in a dream's robe...casting sweet spells of pricey promises with no proof or purchase...so careless, naive and nonchalant I’ve lost my receipt of purpose. Where did I buy it? Can’t remember…where I placed it; no clue...did I tear it up or leave it in the box for taxes?…Where I always end up owing what I don't have when I finally grasp it disappears like steam...or my stolen dream...but was it really stolen…when by the power invested in me I entrusted it to what was golden...that soon turned green and now I’m stuck with rashes that I can't wipe clean. Grungy, dirty, poor pitiful me For I’ve submitted to the wider path of frivolous opportunities. Predestined for doom I have no control of me. Lord please hear my cry; consider my plea. Have mercy on my soul...for I know what I did.
shame Shame SHAME...on me
