Wednesday, August 07, 2019

House Of Sticks

we were beggars but we begged from no one
anything but the right to breathe for ourselves.
to watch the shells fall apart

revealing nothing.
so had seeming become an art
so many aspire to

with their own particular Brand

while the image within
of the Weeping God
they don't understand.

I will be without everything then
with no professional repartee at all.
still the skies are His

who swallowed gall.
and though I am deemed small,
even minuscule

in the general census of things

still, still I know
far better to be His fool
in a house of sticks

burned down to the Wick

than to live like this
to play the role
and defraud your Soul.

mary angela dougla 7 august 2019

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