Seven

You stagger through the door, belligerent and blind.
Anger that only spirits could invoke - menacing - gleering through your eyes.

Standing like a swaying mountain aflame; screaming.
Shouting loud enough that I could here you from the distance that was but one meter away.

You're right. You're always right. Forgive me please.
Father, father, facetious mimicry.

Tonight I'm the inadequate one, the waste of life - judged by one who is gloriously living in a world that tumbles from Monday to Sunday.

You lie. You curse. You drink and cause strife.
You broke her heart and broke her will
But you are forgiven.
After all,
you're faithful.

Tomorrow,when the bells toll, it will all be gone.
The demons of existence bottled under
polished shoes and white shirts;
a facade for the devout neighbors
that peer from behind their own masked affliction.

You sing and smile and act Human.
You praise and laugh as if to justify your piety.

You hide your tarnished soul
in the place one would least expect it to occur;
palpably before the eyes of the one that sees it all.

You're
heartless,
venal,
Idle and
Vain.
A salacious,
bitter
glut.

Forgive my forgetfulness,
it often slips my mind.
Seven traits beneath the face
of a "pious",
"godly"
man.

This poem is about: 
My community

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741