| » Poem: Sunny Sunday morning |
Sunny Sunday morning
written by Genocide Reaper03:46 PM 3/13/05Gazing in the sunny Sunday morn.
Upon the whites blooms of a plum tree, my eyes see.
A bird, he doth sing his song.
While inside I sing my own.
Whistle others feast upon the fallen confetti.
The petals which are falling from the winds breeze.
Deep inside I do believe.
That far to long I have kept this disease.
South of Heaven the tune in mind.
Wondering of my sins through this time.
My eyes are to steady upon the on goings to turn from the sight.
So beautiful, gaining more favor in my heart with every breath I take.
If God could see what I am.
Would he grab me by the head and it would he slam?
Against the wall, or against his sword?
Does he wish for me at this moment to listen for his words?
For what I see I feel is a blessing.
So little an event to some.
But precious is the entertainment in my soul.
Hearkening in silence I ask.
"This feeling of despair shall I ever surpass?"
With no answer but that of chirping, and the wind.
I see my path set before me in folds.
Unraveling one day at a time, confident I will know my destiny.
Before I die alone and old. |
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