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My telephone booth

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Below is the poem entitled My telephone booth which was written by poet ness tillson. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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My telephone booth

Always a little leak,
Dripping in my roof.
As the thunder and the lighting,
Storm around my telephone booth.
The tidal wave is rising,
To drown the children a sleep,
As we hammer in the nails,
Through his bleeding wrists and feet.
Some talk of joy and wonder,
Some talk of better days,
But I try to tell you something,
That makes you shy away.

The humanity inside you,
The innocent lamb and dove,
Have been eaten by the humans,
Covered in *****and mud.

Your soul you held within you,
Your children that you loved,
Have been eaten by the humans,
Who drank the holy blood.

The holy and the sacred,
That once we beheld in awe,
Is now the dancing laughter ,
Of the drunkard and the whore.

Always a little leak,
Dripping through my roof,
As the fishes go on swimming,
Around my telephone booth.

more poem at http://labyrinthoflies.com

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