Jan 142015
Wrung from the walleyed wait of the womb
Marooned to a prayer from god's grave side
And all community of the duly good,
An apple unpinned from its savior branch,
I fall as I fell, have fallen, will fall
Each rainy inch in angst against gravity.
Born moonblind to majesty and mystery
And deaf to reverenced heaven's sighs,
Alone on the lovely ground crowded with brothers
And blitzed by a gracing despair, I rot
Blood-ripe and rosy beyond my own reach.
Against this windy time will I stand again
Who fell to a world wrung dumb by pain?
I inch each word in angered prayer to a leaf.

Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.