PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

And who have I but you to blame now,

for the lingering scent of flowers as I walk down the hall?

Why else should the sunshine burn and blind me?

Tell me, why am I frightened of it all?

I don't want to be petrified any more

Masochist to which I cater,

forcing me to crumble on the outside from within.

A nerve and heart I've no match for.

Our Lord Father, once again let me have my sin.

Forced into this act of contrition,

merely for being alive enough to feel.

But feel is a four letter word, isn't it?

You're going to have to hit me with something real.