Poem I wrote from awhile back

A catharsis of sorts creeps its way into my veins
A metamorphosis of course of which I can't hold back the reins
When all you have is words
When all you can give is time
A chariot rot with care and craft will carry it
A patriot of old for God and country will tarry not
To be the brave bearer of burdens of companions
Large and small
To rage within for the cause
To fight against tragic loss
A symbol of grace that fights for the whole human race
Through my God I will be
In and through that grace you will see
For the remainder
I will be no stranger
To the pain that Christ bore
In the rain battling for
The souls of those who make it a point to be
Not found
Underground
without sound
nowhere around
Eating dust
Craving lust
Judging unjust
Oh we all must
Be spurred we must
Spread the word we must
Get the unction
Learn to function
For soon that horrid thought
Oh that putrid thought
Will be real
The thought of the picture of the words
that is formed in my head
When someone will lecture the words
that are born for the dead
The words too late
Too late
Too late