My mother was like her father,
loving to party and drink.
It wasn’t that way until she lost her mother.
My grandmother, half Seminole, jet black skin and hair,
the backbone of our family,
she was attracted to a man who didn’t care.
When she passed, my grandfather drunk up our wealth.
He drank himself sick, I caught him drinking mouthwash.
The poor soul drunk himself to death.
This is all I knew of him, I was about seven or eight,
standing over a man’s grave I didn’t know.
Seeing my mother’s face stern and straight,
she didn’t shed a tear.
All her hopes and dreams were lost with her mother,
and here lies the man that made them disappear,
living a foolish life, not recognizing death,
becoming arch enemy to his own seeds,
and showing no love for self.
Now, his soul is lost and hell is his home,
casting his entire lot in the fire,
selling everything my grandmother owned.
I’m saying this because withholding them is a sin.
Everybody’s searching for the enemy round about,
not realizing the enemies from within.
They are much closer to you than friends.