One Shot Wednesday Poem,
a place to share your poems
There are some who watch sunshine
across a table, amazed at dust particles
floating aimlessly around the room,
they see lost souls or endless regret.
And there are those who dress
in front of a funhouse mirror
unaware of the fractured distortions
that go on and on.
I sit holding a hot cup of coffee,
steam rising over my hands,
they become my father's hands...
just like this he held his cup,steam
rising from him
many a morning.
The clock down the hall chimes 8,
like the bells of St.Mary's,
that ring in me from my childhood,
that church across the street
where I thought God lived,
and always wondered why
He never walked over
and made it better.