In betwixt theee ancestral and The God

Am dry from my devoted mind, soul and so is my body
The world seem to be shrinking before me,
I wonder if its the gun that will make them believe,
Maybe am a saint, too innocent to know the roaming voices, words,……alphabets, maybe i cant make a word
Its the dead souls that lie beneath us.
Respect or dis before respect if i dont bow to them
The Steps, progressions, for heaven is beneath not!
Rather i'll climb up and be worth a comfort
or is it down degrading my strength
As for the will of the living lost,
Or for the believers, for spiritual upliftment.
Its a choice that determines my destiny……
so let my voice be heard by the open heaven,
and be rejected by the degrading souls
I'll keep mumbling if they view it that way
After all its not a make believe rather a belief to believe.