The Drama
When the drama written by the priests of prime-time
convincing me of Your love
more than Your "chosen" one’s pleading, bleating, and beating Your book against the side of the podium, on the other side of the glass.
I cry out, "Save me from the wretched hole of dung I’ve dug!"
Waiting for the right time, Your time, leaves me complacent.
"What if I Stumble?" I ask with knees green and brown.
I began to love the dirt
But a messenger gathered me in its arms and told me
I will be happy in the end.
Good, yes, You are. Doesn’t do You justice
Like I don’t.
Author Note: written after watching a dramatic "Judging Amy." sometimes less "holy" people can be better witnesses
About the author
I live with my wife, an artist, in Indianapolis. Besides poetry, I like to take photographs, read books, travel overseas, and listen to news/political podcasts, college lectures and classic literature. You can read about my approach to poetry on my poetics page. To stay in touch, follow me on Twitter or connect on a variety of other social networks.
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