Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ChildofGodyay Jul 2018
So.
Love on a piece of crumpled paper, sitting on the couch.
Bare and Obvious.


Dirt on faces and calves.
Dust on clothes made of rags, rage, sorrow, disease and fear.
We refused to give this paper away.
Afraid we would get *****.
afraid we would get humiliated because no one else would give it.

.This paper, still crumpled in our hands.
We refuse to give it to those who didn't deserve it.
we refuse to give it to those who need it.
we all need it.

So this love sits on the couch of our hands.
waiting.
obvious.
waiting to dip it's way into hearts...
so sometimes we refuse to love in uncomfortable situations... we just want to love in situations that are suitable...
isn't love for all time? for everyone?
even those who don't deserve it?
we didn't deserve!
Yet God loved us so much he gave his one and only Son...to die for us..so that we can be with him in heaven
I was told a brain on poem was a terrible thing to waste . To which I retorted ,"Which one is wasted?"
Chris Neilson May 2016
In '87 there was a band on at the Witchwood
called the ****** Surgeons
head surgeon was wearing a surgeon's gown
wearing a surgeon's mask
wearing a surgeon's hair-net
delirium in the audience
the band played thrashing guitars
in front of a psychotic drummer
behind the masked, hair-netted front surgeon
2 songs in, off came the hair-net
3 songs in, off came the mask
4 songs in, off came the gown
a bare chested surgeon
now wearing civilian half nakedness
a huge sofa cushion appeared in the audience
from out of nowhere into my face
my beloved tinted specs flew into the moshing mob
the chaos relented for a moment
I searched the floor for my pride and joy
finding them in multiple smashed, crushed pieces
I could not see the band
I could hardly see my hand
in front of my be-cushioned face
I left the show early
as everything was blurry
how was I to know?
how a ****** Surgeons show would go?
maybe the name was a giveaway.
after a sofa cushion ruined my day.
It's all true.
Simon Soane Jan 2016
You,
the platform of merriment
moulded to the moment;
always the best seat in the house

— The End —