The unsung villan

Discomfort in the crib, little whine will do,
Imbibe in the bottle, cry an hour, maybe two,
Until I'm satisfied that I'm the center of existence,
Cute, but in need of repentance,
Though I'd be praised if I put together a sentence,
Other than the one I owe,
See, If I had the strength of a man, you'd be dead when I lose control
When I spill my bowl,
Without the finger strength to grab the knife and slit a throat.
You're shocked because that's so dark,
But more so are men's hearts,
And mine was just waiting to grow.

In the lunch room, sitting in my class row,
Setting down my tray establishing room for my elbows,
Stomach impatient, in the middle of throes,
Telling me get going and have no respect for the slow,
Skip the prayer, let go, and take the last roll,
Remark back to the other kid who wanted it also,
But I'm not giving this, fair is my foe,
And I took and kept that roll with the strength of my soul
This is the nature in all men preparing to grow.

Drop the task, let the moment relax,
Quit the activity, just let it pass.
Too much stress, unblessed
Because you're willing,
Striving to find life
In that which is only killing.
Billing happiness by the minute,
Never letting go until you won't let go,
And when you won't let go, you've given up all control.
This was your life, without Christ as lead role.