Thursday, November 15, 2012

His pain real

He spoke out of his pain
feeling separated from God
not trusting in God’s mercy
in his anguish and his loss

In the darkness, his despair
his spiral of endless pain
shouting epithets at God
cursing his holy name

He spit out the curse
frozen in the silent air,
words themselves a presence
as real as flesh and blood

Edited November 15, 2012
“his words themselves a presence”
Edited November 15, 2012
“frozen in the silence”
Edited November 15, 2012
“as real as flesh and blood”
Edited November 15, 2012
“His pain real”
Edited November 15, 2012
“He spit out the curse”
Edited November 15, 2012
“He spat out the words – v2”
November 14, 2012
“He spat out the words”
page 80-81, Chapter 5,
“Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner”
The Shack, by William P. Young

All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage. See all 20,890+ of my poems at Poetry Where You Live.

No comments: