Slender beams of accusation enter
this darkened church as I kneel,
always alone, always supplicating,
Accusing forms wrought in panes of glass loom as
dust dances in the air,
forming an image in my mind,
sparing not my darkened soul.
Tears on humanity’s face.
I raise my head, now crying out for
this uncaring salvation.
I have been wondering how my 16-year-old son was getting A’s for his poetry in English. You don’t suppose? Anyway, you too can create a “Put Me out of My Misery” angst-filled Goth Poem. Just click on the link at the top.
Poetry, ballroom dancing, fashion and perfume. Now, this is a seriously cultured-up blog.
Found at Crazy Jay Blue