Saturday, 2 September 2017

Every day, waiting to die, because of what the church have done to me

Every day that I endure living after what the church have done, 
and wait for the next attack. 
This poem has a number of possible authors and is not my work:

The ship

The storm has been raging for so long now
Pouring rain, crashing thunder, howling wind
Beating down on this lonely ship
Searching for a place to call home
There was a time; it seems so long ago
The sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky
Looking up from the bow into forever
A gentle breeze, cotton candy clouds
But the storm slowly moved in
A few scattered showers and thunderstorms
Days of downpour, flashes of lightning
With shelter so hard to find
Rainbows still shone, beacons of hope
In the unlikeliest places
Vibrant against a backdrop of gray
A glimpse at the best of times
As the years passed by
The storms changed, getting worse
Getting better, and fading away
But they'd left their mark
A vessel is forever changed
When touched that way
And although you can rebuild
The damage has been done
Horrible storms had been forecast
For the not so distant future
But they wouldn't hit this ship
Not again, no more damage would be done
The ship will be protected now
Lost no more, tossed about no longer
Safe in a harbor to forever call home

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