"baptisim" poems
angry words from my sheep skinned priest:
"you're nothing but a useless *** toy."
"you're such a *****
"no one will ever love someone like you."
The man of faith casts stones at my broken catherdral.
My holy water has run dry,
there will be no more baptisim here,
or renewal,
only rapid decay
and broken glass.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
It's not there yet ...the shivering spout of ironclad misconceptions .... damply dipping ... dripping... n'whispering givens ... what might be said more then this ... and the echos left behind the rancid hallow chatter ?
Codes of compromise and blameless banter ? Some wonder long against the hour .....against sand filled eyes...so it is, with water salty measures... but not I... up to my knees, in the river ... I walk, moving further ....not there yet ..... shivering ...dripping.....sweet misgivings, contrived from the stories told, about how I got there ... colder now.... night falls ... hours shortened..... beyond the day ..... maybe even the scent of the dim lit haze... moving across the water, in waves....waves against the waist n' rock... something slips beneath the feet....a thought ... no tears for free.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC