Raised, his heart always reaching out toward
Good, he didn't always realize it was God.
At every turn he tested his faith
And every time, another bubble burst.
Falling, all alone again,
With his faith placed in the wrong places.
She comes and fills the hole in his heart,
Jealous of every other, demanding all of him.
His heart loves unconditionally;
He just wants to believe in someone.
His stories always end the same then begin again.
He knows he's foolish, knows he's broken,
Knows that he can't fix himself;
Hes fallen out of love with his nightmare.
With a foot firmly planted and both hands raised
His heart always reaches out toward good but finds illusion.
He knows he's sick, knows he's guilty, he's dumb;
He knows without God and time he'll stay the same.
Author notes
This is an experiment. I tried to show a sickness and cure, the why and how, several voices at once. There is a lot going on in this. I wouldn't call it a poem yet, it will take a lot more work before that happens. What I would like is any input on how you interpret this, ideas on how to get this puzzle into a final draft, images that come to mind while you read this, or a life experience you've had that this may bring to mind. Anything that comes to mind in reaction to reading this is perfectly good as a comment, it serves as a gage to show if I'm doing what I want with this.
Thank you.
