Friend of mine told me to write about something other than “unrequited love,” which I don’t think is a big theme in my work, but well, readers know best, so here’s what happened when I tried to steer away from the usual ‘me.’ I don’t know where this poem came from, but it sure as hell isn’t unrequited love. Really now, am I that whiny in my poems, always crying about lost love?
Prophet
Show me your god,
You
With the soul of
A lost poet.
Show me your god,
And I will
Become a believer.
I,
With my sins
Apparent
And fresh
In my sheets,
Clothed
And guarded
On my body.
Show me your god
When you grasp
Him, her, it, them
Into the snare of your
Rhymes
That begin with prayers
But wander away,
For they hold your
Nomadic spirit.
Errant and
Narcissistic,
You
With the soul of
A lost poet.
Show me your god
If you can contain yourself
In a poem,
And I will sing in worship,
Wash away my sins.
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