rosenrye
Posts: 17
Joined: 8/20/2015
Status: offline
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I've never put any of my writing on the internet, but hey, the worst you could do is hate it right?
I read the guidelines and I don't think I'm breaking any rules, so here goes...
On The Corners of Realists
She's a rebel, trouble
A sinner, whore.
I once stood opposite her equal
Distance from a can of fruit
Medley at the corner store.
A pretty little thing with her
Two pretty offspring.
The man next to her, he stole
That poor woman's purse last week.
He drives a convertible, lives in
A penthouse on the straight and
Narrow.
A lawyer I think.
Maybe he did it for the thrill.
Something to do when you have
Nothing else to want for.
He could have just taken home
Miss Thing, and the boy and the
Girl and the junkie too.
But maybe he's saving him for me.
Eyes that tell a tale.
It's a line from a song
Or a book or something.
Like the lines he wants to write
For a jingle or a poem or
TV ad.
But it's all a lie.
A lie that reflects my own.
His eyes are glassy and bloodshot.
I should offer him some Visine.
If I could just lick them for him
Then we would both be cleansed.
Cleansed like the liars in church
Who throw their undeserved
Money at God hoping to buy a
Condo in Heaven.
And who throw up their hands in
Praise.
In hope.
In despair.
There is no joy in begging, no
Pride.
But that's a sin isn't it?
We're all sinners.
Throw your money to me.
I could paint you Heaven in the
Beautiful colors inspired by
Your shameless faith.
But instead you flee past the
Corner with noses upturned at
The junkie who sees, the hooker
Who feels, the man who wants
And the stranger breathing
Deep of freedom.
We scream a silent scream
For you to wait.
You're missing it.
Your exit.
Don't you realize?
This corner is as close to Heaven
Or Hell as you'll ever get.
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Just a poem, or a rambling? - 
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