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Poetry Writing

The Truth of The Spare Tire

What do I have a spare tire for? I don’t even know how to drive.

I told my friend I didn’t have friends and he agreed. I wanted to meet new people, but then I couldn’t find any good reason I’d leave my place to meet people.

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Poetry Uncategorized

Let It Not Be

The chosen ones made idols.

Statues of gold and genies right below the present, True and Living God.

Stay far from gold.

Whatever you should decide to arrive in, let it not be gold.

Too oft does gold stimulate hungry pupils readied with greedy hearts waiting to make of you a statue and symbol of meaning in their eyes.

A symbol of something foreboding. Coated completely in matte armor.

Turning shiny in the sunlight

Then back to its lusterless base.