PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In younger days

I was inclined to believe nothing.

Being a child,

I thought in childlike patterns,

Simple, realistic.

Surely there was nothing happening

Over my head

That was unexplainable

Or held genuine importance for me.

Of course, I went with the family

To that building on the edge of town

And listened half-heartedly

To the man who preached

Vitriolic forgiveness.

He was sweaty, red-faced,

Boisterously vehement.



I used to wonder

Why he seemed so angry

When he spoke of

What supposedly made him happy.

Who could speak so frighteningly

When they had genuine belief?

I was affected…



My conclusion:

The shouting was not merely for telling…

It was to convince

Not his audience,

But himself.