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Connect Fore

I have become numb to the idea of praise
Praying that the preys won't catch 
themselves in the aisles of pews 
handled by the strength of clout
Smuggled out by strange men

I've become jaded by the blues
Fade to purple so I can paint kitchens and 
cook surrounded by new hues

I have become scarred by our experience
There is no healing for the bruise
but I often think we can grow new limbs
and the broken will be of no use

I have become hopeful every now and 
then
so I pull ink out of pen to write like 
Habakkuk the vision plain upon tables
so they can run and ring wedding bells for 
the two

I have become suspicious of the 
suspended suspense of new days
Always dreaming of bumping into the new 
side of you
Becoming feeble for the opening of hearts 
You stay in far away parts and have 
nothing to do with today

I've become a pleading thing
Covered in blankets, prostrate on cold tiles
A petrified wood waiting to be drenched 
by something different

Something like you watching me in pews 
dressed in blue 
Covering scars with outstretched open 
palms
Marked by ink I've used in daydreaming of 
new days
So they covered me in blankets
The petrified good

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John Loving Iii Date: 1/30/2014 6:58:00 PM now this is a real poet.you have a way with images and words and i can tell that you have poetry and it's awsome form in mind when you write. keep it up. Login to Reply

Patricia L Graham Date: 1/14/2014 5:44:00 PM Oooh ... this just etches out pain so graphically. To pen something so eloquent that hurts so bad!!! Login to Reply Te Indi Date: 1/16/2014 3:11:00 PM thank you kindly. pain seems to be the theme of much of my poetry. I should experiment more, haha.