Connect Fore
I have become numb to the idea of praise
Praying that the preys won't catch
themselves in the aisles of pews
handled by the strength of clout
Smuggled out by strange men
I've become jaded by the blues
Fade to purple so I can paint kitchens and
cook surrounded by new hues
I have become scarred by our experience
There is no healing for the bruise
but I often think we can grow new limbs
and the broken will be of no use
I have become hopeful every now and
then
so I pull ink out of pen to write like
Habakkuk the vision plain upon tables
so they can run and ring wedding bells for
the two
I have become suspicious of the
suspended suspense of new days
Always dreaming of bumping into the new
side of you
Becoming feeble for the opening of hearts
You stay in far away parts and have
nothing to do with today
I've become a pleading thing
Covered in blankets, prostrate on cold tiles
A petrified wood waiting to be drenched
by something different
Something like you watching me in pews
dressed in blue
Covering scars with outstretched open
palms
Marked by ink I've used in daydreaming of
new days
So they covered me in blankets
The petrified good
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