Unconformist's Prayer

Distaste these gloried robes of mine
and fear simplistic will divine
would break this widowed soul with time
And leave with none, no truth nor rhyme

I cry to heaven's pearly gates
A curse for all the damned mens' fates
An illcontented bittered face
to simple rules that highly place

Poor lambs of sloughter, sheep of flock
Who walk in line, unconscious mock
And hide in groves of medows sweet
With hopes for peace they never meet

Disown these greaving childrens' plot
Who shun the thought of what is not
and seek between these lines of right
yet wrong with truth by thoughtful sight

Tell me up high, your thoughtful child
Has thoughts unbound, though meek and mild
And asks you why your sheep are here
instead of thoughtful ones who tear

And greave that will who so content
will always takes our thoughts' repent
And nevermore to nameless rest
but think and be and always test

Would we be blessed who think beyond
and be with The, the one's more fond

Wisps of Trust

Deep gaze of fire, hell’s intent
to make me twisted, torn and bent
this plague is heaven’s gaze undone
and lingered here, far from the sun
Oh Eden, home, from where I’m shun
I take all this. My travel’s run
as I may lay to life’s descent
with none but thoughts of hope’s repent

Heal those wounds who dreaded lay
and never there be those to say
those wicked thoughts and wicked deeds
were all that humans have for needs
growing, yet have left their seeds
and strangle life like weaving weeds
and leek from life each simple day
just left with yew of fear to stay

Take more the grain of life’s wheat grown
with all that love has left and shown
and graze in pastures dewed with trust
to make each moment’s next to lust
consume each thought and all it’s crust
To where these feeling’s blow in gust
to where we lay yet all alone
where wisps of trust are all that’s blown