It doesn’t matter/
if folks oppose God’s servants,/
as long as I don’t.
OR
It doesn’t matter/
if folks oppose God’s servants,/
‘cuz I never will.
It doesn’t matter/
if folks oppose God’s servants,/
as long as I don’t.
OR
It doesn’t matter/
if folks oppose God’s servants,/
‘cuz I never will.
Who am I? Father,/
son, friend, writer. Above all,/
I’m a Child of God.
Why do I play in/
fields of weeds and tares, when I/
know where the truth grows?
Good people pray hard/
to help us through word and deed./
Let’s help them bless us.
— of President Eyring, weeping April 2 11:20 a.m.
I do this, and I/
do that, just like her former/
guy. Sigh. Say goodbye.
He wished he could speak/
whispers to her and turn her/
enough to join him.
It’s odd folks think I/
don’t know how to whisper ‘cuz/
I dance hard. That’s why.
OR
People
may find it strange
that I,
one who dances hard
and sees much
and sings loud
and long
and deep
and lives life,
(Carpe Diem, Man!)
top down,
tunes up,
arms outstretched,
hands up,
with passion
and vigor
and tears
and laughter
and joy
and energy
and YES!
would
know
how
to
whisper.
She thinks I am in/
the Matrix, but everything/
I’m seeing is real.
I want to write poems/
to her whom I danced with, but/
she’s knee-deep elsewhere
She wants poems from me/
but she’s in love with him. What’s/
wrong with this picture?