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This is for me
THIS IS FOR ME
I constantly hear that
God has a plan
A plan for every man
That everything happens for a reason
In gods plan, now
I remember his patch of white-eye lashes
The silvery-gray streak swirled together in the cowlick
Of his hair
The bulging eyes and gritting teeth
As he would rock back & forth in anger
His knotted wrist and hand
Like poor stitching pulled too tight
The scar on his forearm, thicker than a finger
Snaking from his elbow to hand
Where a doctor burned his skin so badly as a toddler
That he melted it
…and then hid it with a cast and prescription for pain killers
all part of the plan
I remember the deep breathing laughter
The cries, “call 911, RAPE!!” when brothers bashed heads,
Or mother cared too much
The fake fucking sweetness in his voice
When dad thought of him and brought him something special home
Right after cutting his daddy down
Born into a world with an evil nobility relinquishing him of all mobility
There’s so much pain mixed with anger,
This loss,
the loss of nastiness transforming to brotherhood
of throwing all the wack shit of our childhood in each others face
of getting to say and know, though I’ve only shown you hate
I love you brother
But that’s not how this ends
And yet you still insist
That these terribly flawed plans
are not written by man?
I love your poem. I have to
I love your poem. I have to say, this poem explains the reasons why people awaken from the lies told to them about our existence here on this planet...and you didn't even say anthing about war, famine, senseless crime. Now we enter the scientific age of quantum physics and holographic projection. Most people do not even know what a hologram is let alone know that we are able to do it quite easily.
I love churches for all they do to keep the world a kinder place. But just like our governments in the world, they refuse to see when they've erred, and as they continue to keep eyes closed, they cause more and more war and destruction with the rigidity of thinking. I figure that the most hope for this world is in the pureness of a child's heart. The compassion that most people have forgotten, especially in times of persecution.
I hope you write more. I enjoyed this.
Ps. By the way, A hologram that looked just like George Burns appeared in my house last night and told me to say everything I just wrote. ;-)
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "