Bring It on Home

Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads. - Thoreau

I find myself in truth's gutter.

Atop integrity's trash heap.

Breathing rotted zeal.

At least everything here is real.

All that glitters is not gold.

Or so I'm told.

I beg to differ.

As Heaven's breeze gets stiffer.

Covered with lice.

Paying faith's price.

No need to be bitter.

Amongst Hell's litter.

Owning what I have no desire to buy.

Bargained with tears I cry.

I have no say.

Neither tomorrow nor today.

Only reeking decay.

Clutching a prophylactic parfait.

Curled up and shriveled as I pray.

I don't know who else is here,

or if God has lent an ear.

I lie here alone,

as I get ready to...

...bring it on home ...

Author's Note

"Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life? We are determined to be starved before we are hungry. Men say that a stitch in time saves nine, and so they take a thousand stitches today to save nine tomorrow." - Thoreau

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I honestly can't say that I'm reading your poem with any deep understanding, but I'm reminded of something a reviewer said about one of my true stories, that it was crude, but good. My childhood was very crude and I'm finally at a point in life where I can own that without feeling like I need to pretty it up in my stories. To me, the ugliness is part of the beauty of my stories. That's what I get from your poem . . . the ugly places in life are sometimes where we get the best inspiration (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Pete]

thanks. your astute reading eye and understanding, receptive heart has you pretty much on the mark. when we come to terms with life's unpleasantries we are liberated but it is an ugly place. sort of like crossing a dessert is the only way to get out. it must be confronted in order to move past it. (HUGS) backatcha ... :)