Sunday, February 24, 2013

Sunday Poem: My Heart's A Well of Wasted Things



My brain is full
of faded artificial
flowers, not even
silk, but polyester.

My hope is filled
with books I haven't
written yet and all the ones
I have.

My fingers are full
of stories, letters
typed and not typed
but danced around.

My mouth is full
of Bibles without covers, 
verses spilling only
to condemn.

My feet will fill
with mismatched socks,
all the steps I took
and then forgot.

My belly is full up
with food I never ate
and never fed to even
one small least of these.

My nose, it fills
with the stench of sin,
and I will not throw away
the workless wrongs.

My eyes are filled
with candles snapped,
never lit and only saved
for the shallow 'just in case.'

Is my heart a well
of wasted things?
Am I a temple 
to myself and stuff and more
and can I fill the holes 
with less of me?





* Yes, it is supposed to say workless, not worthless.

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