Shiny Shackles

There are some places slavery

has yet to be be abolished,

mostly because the slaves won’t have it.

Such pretty shackles, such gorgeous chains,

shining, tinkling,

warm and safe.

One day a crazy person shook them off

and nobody ever saw him again.

Who knows what might have happened

to that poor soul.

Nice, shiny shackles

Believe Me, I’ve Looked

One day I went looking for God.

The Saints all said He was within me

but believe me, I’ve looked;

nothing in here but some insane character

that wants everything he doesn't have,

everybody to be somebody other than who they are

and life to be every which way but what it is.

God may be in there,

but who can find anything in that mess?

Nibbling Figs

Sometimes you just never know who your friends are.

One day, pain came to me and pushed me

from the mud, out into the Light.

Later, fear shook me so hard

I awakened from a stupor

and saw morning had come.

Shame, one fair afternoon, grabbed me,

pushed me deep inside myself

and wouldn’t let me out.

In there I found precious things.

Yet so many other days

pleasure and amusement,

(quite enjoyable fellows to be fair),

had me nibbling figs as the flowers

in my garden smacked their parched lips,

longing for a drink.

Sometimes you just never know

who your friends are

My Assailant

One morning, in the quiet

of the sun’s awakening fingers,

I stumbled into a garden, filled with Light.

Putting down my sack, I noticed it had a hole

and everything I’d been carrying,

gone.

Guilt, frustration, impatience, fear,

everything I’d known for so long,

no more.

In the grass, a thousand paces back,

lay a glistening sword.

I’d been attacked, my bag sliced open,

its contents taken.

One day I hope to find

my glorious assailant

Make Me the Sky

Lord, make me the sky,

clear and open,

a playground for stars;

make me a grassy field,

a place for all in search of

sustenance and warmth;

make me a river,

cool and nourishing,

reaching out with long, nimble,

green-blue fingers in search of the thirsty;

make me music,

in search of ears in search of beauty;

make me whatever You want,

I’m Yours

Bellowing Rules

Love struts arrogantly up the street,

handing out lists of conditions for those

seeking a visit,

then stands on a box in the town square,

bellowing rules,

then rests on a golden throne,

assessing the worthiness

of those longing for Its embrace.

How do like my latest work of fiction?