PG

A Poem by Apollos

Appointed to lead my people out of Egypt.

I lead the squad.
I don’t accidentally shoot.
I get to the root.
Don’t stride casually through.

I preach about my Father.
Who’s pastoring you?
They gonna call me The Gardener.
I will untangle what’s caught up with you.

Get past the press.
I’m in my zone now.
Express the stress.
I just phoned out.

Cross over.
I just transitioned my sound.
CP3 past the Thunder.
Lightning up the Suns now.

I sigh when I don’t hear the right thing.
I prefer precise timing.
I multiply when I see godly self-expression shining.
I will divide if you’re hiding His originating work in your life so that your soul is the place He be found residing.

Condense the issue.
I will not evaporate.
Confused face.
I need you to elaborate.

Pass the plate.
I will not oversaturate.
Debate me. I won’t hate you.
Replace me with your metaphorical god that constantly chases you.

I thought I was being told to pump the brakes as we approach Christmas break.
Got called in to point out who I appreciate.
My pastor told me The Begotten never get forgotten.
Body never rotten. Rose up to display to The Allotted.

Rob The Grave, righteous pick pocket.
Find a mate. Go through The Gate.
Enjoy the date. Check our fate.
Let’s get to Tik Toking.

Sole Fide my favorite pew.
Yet Council of Trent still found an issue.
By His grace I found the clue.
Now I’m just trying to find out what’s the matter with you?