Poem

The Fight

The current of air blew in

Sweeping the corpse clean

A tide amongst the shore, collide.

They screamed, "shoot the breeze".

The clowns played the stage

as the puppets were made

into the fade the gray amazed

The eyes awakened, into a cage.

Their life a bottle,

the Spirit moving in, fall.

Their dignity suffered below

as they tried to fit it all.

A whisper welcomed itself amongst

As the stage played and with that, repose

Heavily poured the ghost upon us,

but they only left a silent Jesus.

A crowd who calls themself God.

A God who calls Himself man.