Monday, 10 April 2017

NuBlaccSoU1

NuBlaccSoUl Jan 26
I'm reaching but never gripping, 
It's soul ripping how they're preaching, yet aren't teaching. 

I'll never hide, 
even when I die. 
I'll be immortalized
in some formaldehyde. 
Where my soul and skin divide
I'll be like a deity, 
the higher me, 
doing the Lord's work, 
hire me.

The humble apple pie
can satisfy no appetite
here comes the hunger tide. 

When wings carried Icarus
through cutting winds
we were pulled feathers
of wisdom's birdy-body of ink
taking flight to Olympus planes 
the son, seeks The Sun
OH-you. 

I'm grown now, 
dealing with chronic stress, 
and I believe less in a deity, 
it seems like too far a stretch 
The stench from a faithless
Hopeless, homeless.
(C) 2016. Copyrighted 27th January 
2017 NuBlaccSoUl™. All rights reserved. Please quote poem with author name, poem title and date published if sharing to external sites without the link or/and if sharing an excerpt of the poem.

No comments: