Short Misgivings.

Flesh Communion.

++++++++++++++++

Faith ate a cancer

in the altar boy's soul,

altered forever

by a white collar

that held him

genuflecting over

sanctuary floors,

in the lustful worship

of a false god.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

©-MFB III

<><><><><><><><><><>

In The Woes Of Withdrawl.

Chained to his empty wallet which hugs his hip,
just another victim of the hype that became a hypodermic,
from a local drug dealer that he's now unable to pay,
with a girlfriend who dropped the friend part,
because he was too strung out, to hang with.
Thus he awaits the knock on his door that will bring
the fisted wrath of collectors for his debts past due,
never knowing the answer lies in his own soul,
even as he's still longing for the wrong kind of fix.

©-MFB III

><><><><><><><><>

Secondhand Soul

I'm not broken,
I am simply a badly
restored vessel
once shattered
by love.

No longer able to
hold the tears in,
since the flower
I once held
was removed.



<><><><><><><><><>

Live For Today, It's Brief.

Did Nostradamus

long for nostalgia,
always peering far ahead,
while his own past slipped away?

Was his boyhood plagued

with dreams of distant disasters?
Lost in tomorrows when he

should've been climbing trees.

Eventually his

own future vanished
leaving his predictions of
the future frozen forever

in his yesterdays ignored.

©-MFB III

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