we don't hold our
cheek bones high enough
to tangle with the clouds
but from the words i've heard,
we're loaded guns,
incisive with our aim.
and they don't believe us
when we claim we're smooth;
we're fluid with a love
for our neighbor--
how can they hold onto
any words strung from our
vicious tirades?
are we swinging from convictions
like the chime
in grandfather's chest?
Or do we build brick and mortar bridges
side-stepping our liquid road?
He never said
we'd be all
sunday afternoon sunlit parks
and candied apple sweets--
Where did we all go wrong?
Author notes
This is kind of random, I'm sure, and not quite what ... whatever, it's 100 words!
for those who care--it's about the state of the Church, today.
A contest entry
- I want your drabbles by trekkergirls bank.
400 points, ended May 3, 15 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
-
yeah I kinda agree with you that this does appear kind of random to me as well. However, it is nicely written. Thanks for sharing this with us and thanks for entering it into my contest.
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