Writer. Fighter. Lover. Dreamer. The doctor's say she's generally functional.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

The Preacher's Warning

A knock on the door reminds her;
She'd almost forgotten this place.
A surge of poison defiles her;
She was always forgetting the way.

As she wonders and waits
For this too to pass,
She sees no light for each
Of her hearts and souls lost.

The sun sets in a rush
As her fire burns out.
And cinders coat her smile
To fill the space it once was.

The people stop to watch
In distant disregard,
In curious concern, and in helpless admiration,
In a way that makes her wonder
If at all it's worth the searching.

Of the sin of despair
And helpless nothings in the morning,
The preacher demands
In mock-tainted warning,
"Sent by the Lord I declare,
Any true child of God,
Has never been there."

- Loretta Marie Perera

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