"srtings" poems
Puppet master you tried to play
For years holding srtings that have started to fray.
Oh poor puppet man, how will you ever stand
without the strings in your hand?
I'm sprinting away without a shadow of doubt.
I'll go in this way, and find my own way out.
Finding my own water when I get thirsty
Rinsing clean all that makes my mouth *****
Vast desert landscapes have nothing on me
For I am the one that's creating the heat.
You can throw your stones and tell me I'm weak
but your stones will just shatter and I will still be.
So much power is packed in my fist,
for I've wined and dined and conversed with Jesus.
I've seen white lights that you will never witness.
So go on, Puppet Master, keep working those strings
that are tattered and broken, tied up to nothing.
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 5:58 PM UTC