I asked for nothing but received two lashes and a fist for my trouble.
My mother often said how long must we pray to the rubble.
God and men often one and same; is it Divine or is it the priests ordain?
My crime a question.
My punishment wasn't questioned.
I asked for mercy.
I pled for mercy.
I begged for mercy.
God and men.
Church and soul.
The hubris that I never told.
The truth is I was never bold.
Divine or damned.
The words were never gold.
I prayed for mercy.
I cried for mercy.
I bled for mercy.
Do you know what I was told?
YOU ARE READING
Lackluster writing...bad writer.
PoetryConfessional poems. These are how I feel about myself and the things around me. These poems mean a lot to me. I may not be a good writer but I wanted at least anonymously to share them.
