Our Father

5 Comments

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  • Religion

    Our Father
    Faces, faces
    so many faces
    places, places
    so many places
    their all screaming so loud
    screaming in surround sound
    except a voice
    once strong and proud
    now broken and burned
    whispers coarsely
    begging only to be heard

    Oh, Father
    take me from my soul
    Oh, Father
    my body is tired and I feel so old

    I cried for the Father
    but I feel no Father
    I beg for the Father
    yet I see no Father

    where is my Father
    who sits in the skies
    who is my Father
    can he comfort me only after I die

    Is there no Father
    am I living the perfect lie
    sometimes staying alone with no one
    is better than finding loneliness with everyone

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    am2anangel commented on Our Father

    02-24-2010

    again I liked this one. there is a strong sense of longing and yet giving up hope. you conveyed your emotions very well.
    Reply to Comment

    cmlestrade commented on Our Father

    08-19-2009

    An excellent piece filled with ironic questions for which the answer can be found within yourself. This was a very good poem
    Reply to Comment

    JLorian commented on Our Father

    05-27-2009

    "can he comfort me only after I die" seems like a really valid question to me. This is a very strong piece. I wonder, is it Father/god/diety who hears these voices or do they only fall on the waiting ear of the poet? Maybe poets are the ears of gods. Maybe we just create the gods out of our own impotence. Ah, the snare of the 100 character minimum...it invites me to babble...I bestoweth a 10.
    Reply to Comment

    JadedJezzabel commented on Our Father

    05-26-2009

    that is sad but true......the worst feeling in the world is being in a room full of people but still feeling all alone
    Reply to Comment

    TERESA commented on Our Father

    11-15-2008

    sponds like a desperate plead the holy spirit is our comforter
    Reply to Comment

    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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