Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Broken Fingers Song

The acoustics struck me hard,
An addiction that had me
Addled into deafness.

I sought shelter and found this
Curious monster strumming lightly
A broken harp.

His activity made me wince,
His broken wings bent wrong.
Shining in the afternoon sun
Was his melted halo.

His eyes capture mine, for a
Moment he sees the art in me.

He turns away, gives me no
Afterthought and continues his play
With his twisted fingers.

Angelic? No, he's too much a
Killer to be a soldier of god.
He fingers the apparatus,
Gets up and walks away.

For a second, I am alone again.
I run to follow his pace and he
Shows me an anger I cower to.

When he slaps me, I taste blood.
I stand beneath the arch,
Configuring an argument to
Spit at his arduous soul.

But I could not attack;
I sit upon a step and
Pick at my blistered feet,
Ruing my decision to open
These gates and ask for advice.

Without approval, I leave.
With no home, no sanctuary, and
Only half a soul, I seek another shelter.

He grabs my shoulder, this entity,
This authority figure.
He pulls me back down, we are wounded.
He ices my feet, and smiles without reason.

2-24-10
 


Comment On This Poem ---
Broken Fingers Song

378,622 Poems Read

Sponsors