Self appointed prophet
Putting forth prayers and
Pamphlets as you tear
The room asunder --

No regard for mortals,
But you brush it off with
A smile so sweet, a touch
Of the arm and divine influence --
After all, it’s your duty

Hands raise in the air,
You plead us to join you,
To save our souls and
Get redemption in turn
For a half-hearted prayer

If searching souls and
Turning them pure is your
Mission, then dear Susan,
You need to face the mirror
To truly find God

Dear Harlot
You kept my soul in check.
The loneliness encased was spent.
Wonders of unending flesh.
And yet the scent is fleeting.
The seclusion returns afresh.
The ethereal heart deceiving.

What once brought sweet memories.
Now are void parentheses.
My empty arms are bare.
In addition a cadaverous stare.
Skin cold with horripilation.
Trudging on in desolation.

I long for comfort I confess.
To the skies I do profess.
For on the ground my feet shall stay.
Am I worthy whose to say.

Another harlot.
Anther day.
Not my harlot.
Not my harlot.
Not my harlot.

A glimpse of her visage I pray.
Solitude is how I pay.

Sitting in a quiet place.
Listening to the ideas blossom in our minds.
The noise never ending.
When our thoughts and ideas dissipate.
They're eventually forgotten.
They were never spoken.
Billions of unsaid words floating around us.
Residual in the mind or not.
Theses words, they travel somewhere.
Whether these concepts were significant or the split second reminder of unwashed dishes.
These thoughts fly someplace calm.
That place, that realm is truly quiet.

Water around rocks.
Sun melting the morning dew,
A bear wets his feet.
~M. Pierce

Waves crush the shoreline,
Washing up green dead Seaweed.
My feet in the sand.
~M. Pierce

Moon shines on the pond.
Illuminating water,
While it fills my lungs.
~M. Pierce