Arrogant Apples

Self-righteous are the days,
arrogant apples, the core of spite.
Days that gnaw and vex and moan,
dreary afternoons that wield wicked
voices spewing judgment,
days packed tight into a vase
pleading freedom.
I am not so blessed
nor are you blessed
when dwells fundamental
thumping,
flawed madness,
that punctures with barbed tongue
drawing blood from sensitive flesh,
that devotion to cross
wherein the crucifixion
is that of self,
and the redemption
remains human loss.
These are drops God might spill
if pushed far enough,
yet Providence, I think,
prefers a peaceful river
and a fun-filled heart.


24 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
12-18-14