The Church of Forevermore The Fourth Room (Sloth)


 

She comes to me in my dreams this angel from the fourth room.
Marbled in green- blackened veins tinted by the gathering gloom.
“David your presence is requested in the fourth room.”
She whispers to me words on her breathy perfume.

 Another trip to the Church of Forevermore.
Another event new to the fourth floor.
It’s just a Church and nothing more.
It’s just a Church with a huge black door.

It’s a Church with an entrance I abhor.
Still I cannot bear to gaze upon this door.
Glowing Holy Writ moving around its border.
Moves in strange syncopation to some divine order.

 

This time the door opens with no effort on my part.
Beckons my entry tugging and pulling upon my heart.
A lone candle chases away the night.
Flickering yellow then white.

 

The door closes me in with the candle.
Its light dancing and flickering on the polished mantle.
Once again this candle speaks to me.
Once again I begin to see.

 

Its sparkling words floating in the air.
Makes me stop and stare.
Their timber to me so fair.
Painted with an accent strange and rare.

 

“A soul in room four.”
“And one that is lost forevermore.”
The candle’s words convey.
Their sullen flavor upon my heart does weigh.

  

So I pass into the Church of Forevermore.
Into the first room on the first floor.
“Lust” its title above the first room.
Ghostly illuminated in the twilight gloom.

 

I walk down the aisle in first room.
Color lights through stained glass bloom.
Upon the ancient carpeting and floor.
Silent as the tomb in the Church of Forevermore.

 

I tell myself it’s just a Church and nothing more.
This Church with seven rooms and seven floors.
So I come to door to the stairway.
It swings open before me, empty and gray.

So again I ascend the steps to the second floor.
In the Church of Forevermore.
Its ancient woods creak under my weight.
It’s bannister polished and ornate.

 

I have passed thru the second and third rooms at last.
The door of the fourth room with its knob of polished brass.
Rotates with no effort from me.
Emerald green light as green as the sea.

 

Hovering over a woman in fine clothes.
The Fourth Angel’s light around her glows.
And she speaks in a rolling and spacial sound.
Like the waves crashing and curling around.

 

Their crest as their breakers wind swept plumes.
Trail off their magnificent blooms.
And she asks “Why are ye so Godless woman?”
“I see more faith in the beggar women.”

 

So the woman says, “I’m too busy for religion.”
“I’ve received no wealth from God’s Wisdom.
”The Angel says to her; “Ye art the epitome of sloth.”
“And your salvation to me I loathe.”

 

And so the woman just sat there.
The Fourth Angel was furious and her green eyes did flare.
She started whispering and chanting a prayer.
For God’s guidance, for His care.

 

To bear witness to this empty human being.
Whose net worth is not worth seeing.
Seen from any terrestrial skies.
From any celestial eyes.

 

“Get thee from this Holy Place.”
“Thy presence in this place is a disgrace.”
The Fourth Angel words of fire.
Upon the woman like rain drops dire.

 

And so the woman vanished upon the night.
Once again I was witness to this sight.
And the Fourth Angel came upon me.
Crystal tears upon her beautiful face I see.

 

And she said unto me; “It hurts me to lose these souls.”
And her voice felt as old as the Dead Sea Scrolls.
And I said nothing to her but my heart extolls.
The virtue of her heart to mine rolls.

 

And she saw this within me.
“I am glad you understand what you see.”
“Please tell everyone what you saw here tonight.”
The Fourth Angels eyes both soft and bright.

 

She sublimed into the evening light.
Now I was alone in the Church this night.
And she whispered to me from an invisible mask.
“I’m always here you have but to ask.”

 

So I wondered about the woman in the fourth room.
I wondered if her soul went with her into the gathering gloom.
For someone so busy with no time for God.
This woman whose moral compass so flawed.

 

I remember the Angels words to me.
“I am glad you understand what you see.”
But I cannot understand this woman tonight.
To comprehend her reasons try as I might.

 

The Seventh Angel spoke to me from behind the mask.
“David your thoughts for her do not task.”
“For she is no more and don’t ask.’
“For her I have unmasked.”

 

I felt as if the woman were restored.
And I felt like she was reborn from the sword.
And I felt good as I walked thru the last door.
Into the street from the Church of Forevermore.

Dave Proffitt
1/31/2013
9:36 pm

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Church of Forevermore the Third Room (Greed)


 

Colors in my mind yellows, orange, and flames of red.
Seething, twisting collisions sparks and metal shred.
Heavy and dense, crushing colors of silvery lead.
Smother and smash, hovering above my bed.

 

Awakens me at this nocturnal hour.
This three AM alarm call from a higher power.
This wasted energy puts me upright in my bed.
My head reeling from yellows, orange and flames of red.

 These links between me and the church my recollections.
My witness to these events and my collections.
Of strange confrontations betwixt Angels and Humanity.
More often than not questions my sanity.

 

Moonlight pours through my windows its ghostly light.
Casts monochromatic colors of bones and the night.
Colors natural objects into some unholy sight.
My unwilling participation becomes my plight.

 

To see these sorts of things on a daily basis.
My daily life and these events in some strange stasis.
And so I’m off to the Church of Forevermore.
Just a Church and nothing more.

 

Standing in front of the great dark door.
At the entrance to the Church of Forevermore.
Just a Church and nothing more.
Seven gables, seven rooms and seven floors.

 

More Holy Writ glowing and running.
Along the carved edges brilliant and stunning.
Still bothers me to gaze upon it.
Watching it disappear and split.

   

On each end into some unknown zone.
Each symbol vanishes in a staccato drone.
Barely audible to human hearing.
This strange music disappearing.

 

Heave to and the door swings wide.
The darkness pulls me inside.
A lone candle chases away the night.
Flickering yellow then white.

 

I wonder about this candle and tarry in its audience.
So it speaks to me in its blandiloquence.
Gentle and soothing “I am the seer for all who enter here.”
Speaking to me from a golden holder upon its tier.

 

“Welcome David we are glad you are here.”
It’s flame flickers and endears.
And so candles are now talking to me.
So I also wonder what I will see.

 

“There is a soul in room three.”
Says the candle to me.
So I bid the candle adieu.
And walk past all the pews.

 

In the darkness and the gloom.
Down the aisle in the first room.
On the first floor.
In the Church of Forevermore.

 

I tell myself “just a Church and nothing more.”
With seven gables, seven rooms, and seven floors.
I am at the door to the staircase of the second floor.
Just a Church and nothing more.

 

So again I ascend the steps to the second floor.
In the Church of Forevermore.
It’s ancient woods creak under my weight.
It’s bannister polished and ornate.

 

I’m outside the room on the second floor.
Inside the Church of Forevermore.
Just a Church and nothing more.
Blackness bleeding from the windows in the doors.

I walk into the darkness of the second room.
With the blackness and sanctity of the tomb.
I feel touch of unseen observations.
And I wonder at the divinity of these creations.

 

I am in the second room in the Church of Forevermore.
Just a Church and nothing more.
A room on the second floor.
I am walking down the aisle to the back door.

 

I open the door into the staircase to the third floor.
Strange and glowing, red light spilling under its door.
This staircase bathed in red light of the Church of Forevermore.
Just a Church and nothing more.

 

The steps spiral upward and round.
Their architecture complex and profound.
Silent unto my foot falls.
And no sounds echo these halls.

 

I am standing at the door to the third room.
Yellows, oranges and reds stabbing into the gloom.
And I feel uneasy upon this floor.
It’s just a church and nothing more.

 

So I open the door and enter the third room.
The smell of ancient deserts and myrrh bloom.
And floating overhead and angelic entity.
One to me of unknown identity.

 

And she has flaming red hair.
And her beautiful shoulders are bare.
Her sea Green eyes flashing and bright.
Like some emerald fiery sprite.

 

Her beauty to me beyond all measure.
This flaming angelic treasure.
This crimson warrior of divinity.
This definer of infinity.

 

A man sits alone in the first pew.
The angel’s photonic red hue.
Revealing upon him passing through.
X-Ray- like, to my view.

 

His skeleton, I can now see.
And the entity within him that will not flee.
Cowering behind his spine.
Round his soul it is entwined.

 

“Will you release your greed unto me?”
The Angel within him sees.
The demon hiding within.
Feeds upon his weakness and sins.

 

And unto her he replied “Yes please take it away.”
The demon tightened its grip and the man did stagger and sway.
The Angel reached inside the man and cast the demon out.
Saying to it, “Guilty before God, guilty before humanity no doubt.”

 

The demon writhed and hissed on the floor.
In the third room on the third floor.
Of the Church of Forevermore.
Just a Church and nothing more.

 

The third angel smote the demon with her sword.
And there arose a wailing and gnashing of teeth from its demonic horde.
And then the demon was no more.
All of this in the third room on the third floor.

 

Another show in the Church of Forevermore.
A Church with seven gables, seven rooms and seven floors.
Just a Church and nothing more.
Just a Church of Holy Lore.

 

The third angel held the man in her arms as he was crying.
He spoke to her in ragged breaths and sighing.
And she said unto him “shall ye not repeat this offense?”
“For this is thy only recompense.”

 

He promised her that he would honor himself to the end of his days.
He promised her to amend his ways.
I watched as he sublimed into the night.
Into dust disappearing from sight.

 

The third angel saw me standing there.
She came gliding to me floating in the air.
“David I am glad that you were here.”
And her words to me did endear.

 

“Please tell everyone what you saw here tonight?”
Her flashing green eyes danced blinding and bright.
“I feel my words unworthy of describing this sight?”
I said unto this being of Holy red light.

 

“We love the stories of this Church you tell.”
“Of our home in this place where we dwell.”
“For this place is of your lore.”
“This place we call The Church of Forevermore.”

 

And the third angel disappeared from sight.
Like the fleeting shadows of the night.
And she whispered to me as she passed.
“I’m always right her you have but to ask.”

 

Just another story from the Church of Forevermore.
Seven gables, seven rooms, and seven floors.
Just a Church and nothing more.
Just a Church like nothing before. 

Dave Proffitt
1/22/2013
1:13 am

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Church of Forevermore The Second Room


The Second Angel appeared to me in a dream.
And I could not look upon him for his armor did gleam.
Exceedlingly bright and it out shown the sun.
Such energy in the beams as to make them hum.

 So he said unto me” David bear witness for me.”
“We have a visitor in the second room you see.”
So I awoke at three o’clock in the morning.
In cold darkness hiding the creatures of forewarning.

 So I came to the front door.
The entrance to the first floor.
Of the Church of Forevermore.
Just a Church and nothing more.

 I grabbed the large iron handle that was of the door.
To the entrance of the Church of Forevermore.
Just a door between me and the first floor.
Just a Church and nothing more.

 And so it was a huge dark oaken door.
That opened into the first room of the first floor.
And it was carved and ornate beyond human measure.
Showing scenes of good and evil conjuncture.

 Written below in ancient Holy writ.
And it bothered me to look upon it.
For it moved and glowed with a life of its own.
Some Holy banner disappearing into some unknown.

 The door swung open and I was hit with a stale breeze.
From no human interaction to stir it or tease.
And it smelled of natural gas and time immemorial.
A draft of this century to the antediluvial.

 I stepped through the door into the first room.
A lone candle drives away the gloom.
Moon beams pouring through stain glass windows.
Ghostly colors illuminate the shadows.

 I walk between the pews of the first room.
A stolid silence like the music of a tomb.
I get to the door of the staircase to the second floor.
In the Church of Forevermore.

 I tell myself, “This is just a Church and nothing more.”
So I ascend the steps to the second floor.
Its ancient woods creak under my weight.
It’s balustrade twisted and ornate.

I come to the second room on the second floor.
Inside the Church of Forevermore.
Just a Church and nothing more.
Brilliant beams flashing through widows in the door.

 Tis the Second Angel on the Second Floor.
I tell myself, “This is just a Church and nothing more.
I see him drift backwards and come towards.
Me and his light beams slash the air like divine swords.

    They hum with malevolence, some dark energy they contain.
To creatures of the night tis their bane.
He is hovering over this woman grossly overweight.
She is shielding her eyes from his brilliance so great.

“Gluttony” above the door header on this room.
Not of who but of whom.
Tears streaming down her pudgy cheeks.
Past her hands drawn tightly they leak.

Down between the cleavage of her breasts.
Leaving a sorrowful wet spot on her chest.
“Do you believe?” the Angel’s voice booms.
Throughout the rafters of the second room.

 In the Church of Forevermore.
Just a Church and nothing more.
“I have always believed” the woman cries.
Through her trembling voice she sighs.

“My daughter died so young in her years.”
She says through her sobs and tears.
“And it left this hollowness inside of me.”
“And her passing would not let me be.”

“My consumption was to fill this void.”
“And my marriage also it has destroyed.”
“ I am so sad and alone.”
The Angel’s light softened into her face it shown.

 And he touched her cheek with his silvery hand.
The tears from her eyes flowed and ran.
Into his hand and he touched them to his lips.
And his radiance dimmed and he bowed his head.

 “Such pain and emptiness my child.” He said.
And still he held her face in his hands spread.
Across her cheek, neck and ears.
She looked up at him through her tears.

I saw this blue light from within him envelope her.
Changing her to things that are from things that were.
So I could see neither of them in the blue mist.
Whirling around this woman it kissed.

In the Church of Forevermore.
In the second room on the second floor.
Just a Church and nothing more.
Such a sight passing through this door.

 Then we were alone in the room.
The woman and I in the early morning bloom.
When I looked upon her bearing.
She looked at me with wide eyes staring.

And she was smiling and now had lost.
All her weight to her life had cost.
So much suffering and pain.
Tears filled my eyes for I could not rein.

In my feelings for this poor soul.
Who’s tragic loss to her life did extol.
And so she walked over to me.
I put my arms around her you see.

Her dress was wet with her tears.
And stained with neglect from the years.
From all the times that were.
That all ended right here.

And so she pulled her pretty head up and looked at me.
And in her green eyes a new light of hope I did see.
“Thank you” she said as she walked out of the door.
In the second room of the Church of Forevermore.

As I watched a beautiful woman disappear into the morning.
I was no longer filled with fear and forewarning.
This new day on the second floor.
In the Church of Forevermore.

Dave Proffitt
1/18/2012
10:06 pm

Human Mileposts


 

I decided not to put this into a rhyming format because I wanted to get this down while it’s still running around in my head. Sometimes I wake up and my arthritis has other ideas about my sleep needs. So to put him back in bed I take a couple of these aspirin spiked with caffeine. Of course the latter constituent is the reason for my revved up mental activity, and so much so this morning that it actually got me up. But I think the reasons for the whole thing are good.

    I was thinking about the next part of the last poem I just posted called The Church of Forevermore. I was going to watch another person enter the Church and I got the idea to put Martha into it. For those of you who haven’t a clue who Martha is, well she’s a real life character I wrote about in one of my past poem-stories. I started thinking about her again; she’s real good about making me think of her too, how this comes about is still a mystery to me. I also was reflecting on this other gal I met on Columbia Boulevard one rainy, miserable day. Her name was Carol, and as it turns out by her slight slip of the tongue was a prostitute I think? I didn’t pick her up for the obvious reason either she was being pummeled with sideways Oregon rain in the fair month of February and being a native of this state I know how she felt so I picked her up. I’m glad I did too. I made a decision to do this as I drove past her in a big truck I was driving at the time. I think sometimes these decisions come from someplace else.  I don’t know, but that’s the way they seem to work for me.

          I think these people I have had in my life have been put there for some reason. Way beyond me. Maybe it’s a Milepost marker to see how close or far away we are from being human. I’m not saying that because I see these people that I’m a hero. Nope not me. I’m just a bit too inquisitive for my own good perhaps? I like to know why stuff happens and especially the way it does. But I really think that these people are shown to us. I also think that you have to be in some sort of mind set to see them as they are intended to be viewed. What do I mean by that? I think in our society today we are like a lot of cake frosting shoved into one of those huge, metal hypodermic-looking whoop de dos that allow the baker to make flowers, and trick multi-ridged borders on top of Junior’s birthday cake. It’s like the news people, the advertising people just cram us into their molds the way they want for their own ends. We get squirted out back into world on top of their cake a bit overwhelmed most of the time and probably oblivious to people like Carol and Martha.

          I think the best way to stay out of the cake decorator is to slow down and think about things more. The people of my generation and a few back were brought up with enough good programming to allow us to figure things out from a common sense stand point if nothing else. Another fancy way of saying it is to install or fine tune your bullshit filter. We all have one. Some folks just don’t use it much. My sarcasm keeps mine turned on twenty four-seven. Just me though.

          When I see the Carol’s and Martha’s in life I wonder about them. I wish I could tell you why I do this. I see some woman who is oblivious to styles and the way she “should” look to society, crossing the street in front of me. Walking along with old saddle oxfords on, one shoe lace untied and waving along behind her shoe as she walks across the intersection in front of my car. Carrying two plastic white sacks with God knows what in them but heavy enough to stretch the plastic a bit. She wears this detached look on her face and her eyes have this strange light in them. She looks at me directly, so what are the chances of that I think?  Someone walking across an intersection that looks directly into your eyes, someone that’s never seen you before ever? Makes me wonder.  I could tell something was special about her. She did something to me inside, something to my heart I guess. Hell I don’t know. I liked what she did. I also realized that absolutely no one on the planet earth would ever write one single letter about her in her life time if I didn’t.  Is she worthy of that? Sure she is. We all are to some degree I guess. She surely was. These kinds of people are the MOST worthy of it as I see it. “Her name in print only by her own hand,” an excerpt from my poem “Carol.” What a shame that would have been. The human spirit is always worthy of recognition, and what color it has become with life isn’t for us to judge. I made that decision with Carol because I felt sorry for her that day, just because, damn it. I don’t need to convince myself or anyone else that I was a fool for feeling compassion for what our society labels as a throw-away human because she’s a prostitute? To me that’s nonsense. She’s still human; she still bears the feelings of being that. She feels joy, sadness, loss, anger, jealousy, all the stuff all the rest of us carry around too. I wonder about myself and for seeing her like this too. But then I usually dismiss it because I don’t think I have the right to judge her at all.

          Maybe God puts these “Human Mileposts” in front of us? Maybe he’s watching our reactions to their plight? Some sort of test of our character perhaps? We are all supposed to love each other it says that somewhere in the Bible. 

          Lets’ say that maybe Martha would have walked acrossed the intersection and knocked on my window. When I rolled the window down suppose she asked me for a ride. Would I have picked her up? Oh sure I would have. Easy for me to say, but then I like talking to people like her. Imagine what a conversation with a woman like her would have been? Fascinating to me at least. Fascinating to probably most folks if we take off the “style and normal glasses.” Being an American, we are encouraged to wear them by the people who want to sell us their stuff or spin information for their own agendas. Who’s the bigger fool them for trying this garbage on us or for us letting them do that to us in the first place?  Questions, questions sometimes drive me nuts until I just turn ’em loose and watch where they go. The bullshit filter at work again. God I’m gonna wear mine out!  Makes me laugh just thinking about it. It should.  The way Hollywood likes to shove new starlets and shirtless, skinny men with cowboy hats on standing with their arms crossed in front of themselves all bad ass in front of us. Yep we’re supposed to be needing resuscitation because of these fools. I mean really.

          Gimme a Martha or a Carol any day to these people who mistakenly think the sun rises and sets on their Hollywood-stained asses. 

          Human Mileposts, such a strange concept for myself so early in the morning. Like my hero Richard Pryor said “this shit just won’t leave me alone.”  It won’t. 

          I would say thank you to all my friends throughout my life, and my new Facebook Friends for taking the time out of your lives to read what I write. It means a lot to me. I would write this stuff even if I wasn’t on Facebook, I’d just put it on my Word Press site. I feel like I’m supposed to be doing this stuff so someone somewhere needs to read it, and who that may be is not for me to know. Celestial logic methinks.

          I’m waiting for my next Human Milepost. I wonder who and what that will be on this highway of life. What a drive.  

 

 

The Church of Forever More


 

Sunlight painted by stained-glass illuminates the floor.
Its shafts light up dust specs floating near the door.
In the seventh room on the seventh floor.
I’m in the Church of Forever More.

A Church with only one-way doors.
Into seven rooms on seven floors.
Seven gables, seven rooms and seven floors.
Only a Church and nothing more.

A room for each of the cardinal sins.
Only one way out and one way in.
The first room on the first floor.
“Lust” inscribed in text above the door.

In the Church of Forever More.
Seven Gables, seven rooms and seven floors.
An Angel in the first room on the first floor.
Only a Church and Nothing more.

His armor black and liquid-like.
Bristling with red crystalline spikes.
Burning red eyes seething like some holy furnace.
Their tattooed outline set in divine sternness.

This grand inquisitor awaits your entry.
This member of the Angelic Gentry.
In the first room on the first floor.
Only a Church and nothing more.

So I watch as a business man opens the door.
To the first room of the first floor.
In the Church of Forever More.
Photonic brilliance from him does pour.

Staggering he falls upon one knee.
His bad deeds struggling to be free.
Pushing and pulling, distorting his face.
Bits and pieces of his personality run with no grace.

Recognizable to anyone before.
Unrecognizable after the first floor.
In the Church with seven doors.
Only a Church and nothing more.

And the Angel asks him to release his bad deeds.
Struggling so hard making his face bleed.
For now he cannot stand.
The Angel extends his brilliant black hand.

 But the man will not stand.
And the man will not take the Angel’s hand.
So he will not release his bad deeds.
Blackness through his eyes does bleed.

So the Angel tells the man he must leave.
And he asks the man if he believes.
But the Angel’s words fall on deaf ears.
But the man is blinded by lust colored fears.

The man with no face on the outside looking in.
Would not release his sins within.
His face regains it’s composure.
Bears a mark of the Angel’s exposure.

Staggering as he walks away.
His soul blackened and gray.
Bound so tightly to internal drives.
Lost in other people’s lives.

Can no longer tell right from wrong.
His life’s become an ugly and dissonant song.
Tears from his eyes leave black tracks down his face.
Shiny and pearlescent like snail trails they trace.

I watch as he disappears into the day.
And I see how his burden upon him does weigh.
I feel sorry for this man whose soul is lost.
And I wonder at that cost.

So I return to the pew in the seventh room.
Watching the sunlight receding from the gathering gloom.
I cannot get this man out of my mind.
A resonant voice comes from behind.

 “He is unworthy of your concern.”
The Seventh Angles eyes burn.
“There is still hope for him.”
I watch as his eyes dim.

   Once again I am alone on the seventh floor.
In this church with one way doors.
A Church with seven gables, seven rooms and seven floors.
Only a Church and nothing more.

 Dave Proffitt
1/15/2013
8:20 pm

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Blue Angel


 

My dark lady with eight strings sits across my lap.
Her strings take their steely toll upon my fingers crack.
Their metallic gray callouses etched into human flesh.
Millimeters in depth, each day fresh.

A product of kilometers up and down the neck.
Billions of notes vanish from an ebony deck.
Into thin air never to be heard again.
Only to be born over again.

The soul of a guitar player.
A note maker and sayer.
Hears things in music no one else does.
With years of listening with the heart because.

Of a trilogy from hearing, with the heart and soul.
Musician’s personalities shaped by this toll.
So I sit here in my living room.
The words won’t come in the gathering gloom.

The creative engine’s gone into neutral.
Sometimes singular and sometimes in plural.
Sometimes I want this with all my heart.
Sometimes that engine just won’t start.

Oft times I wonder if I should do this.
But my guitar I cannot dismiss.
For it is a part of me.
This beautiful lady balanced on my knee.

 Suddenly I feel a lighter presence in the room.
Lifting the darkness and shades of gloom.
Weaves it way into my mind.
And I am no longer musically blind.

A feminine presence impossible to behold.
A beauty so impossibly bold.
Speaks to me in whispers told.
On breathy encouragements rolled.

She engulfs the entire room.
And so I wonder to whom.
Is within me.
So I ask to see.

This beauty of the night.
Still floating from my sight.
Like a blue Zephyr within me.
So she says”ye shall see.”

A blue mist forming in my living room.
Tiny particles emanating from the fleeting gloom.
Swirling into a lovely vortex dancing and swaying.
Her words like music as she is praying.

An angel of dazzling blue skies.
So beautiful she brings tears to my eyes.
Eyes of an Egyptian Queen burning with a golden fire.
To me she does enquire.

 “Why art thou with tears David?”
“For someone with music so avid.”
So her divine words lilting upon the air.
Play upon my hearing so fair.

“I feel not worthy of your concern.”
My words to her off my tongue did burn.
“Our Father has heard your prayers.”
So she spake unto me this holy sayer.

“He hath sent me here to help you.”
My beautiful angel of the deepest blue.
“I will be here for you for the rest of your days.”
Her golden eyes into mine did blaze.

So I felt her love and concern.
Which made the music in my soul burn.
And my eight string lady and I were again one.
My blue angel said to me “my work tonight here is done.”

“I will always be here David you have but to ask.”
“Nothing you want is too great a task.”
“I cannot do this for you.”
“For this is something you must do.”

“But I will make thee a player of players.”
So I watched her sublime back unto the night.
Disappearing in the blue mist from my sight.
And the music came forth with all it’s might.

My blue angel visits me and on my couch she lies.
And watches me with those fiery golden eyes.
Sometimes she teases me which helps me learn.
Where my playing has taken a wrong turn.

And she watches over me for I see.
I love the conversations she has with me.
And sometimes I think she’s in my car.
And sometimes I think she’s off afar.

But I have only to ask of her.
“Where you were?”
“ I was everywhere and right here.”
“ I am always near you David have no fear.”

Her words sparkling as the stars of the night.
Her gold eyes flashing and bright.
Her long blue hair flowing in some astral wind.
Blowing off of seas we’ve never been.

And the seventh angel paid me a visit one night.
White light, erasing darkness blinding and bright.
In the church of seven doors and seven floors.
In the church of forever more.

And he said unto me; “The Father likes your writing.”
“ I knew you could do this without slighting.”
The evening light flashed off his armor’s glinting spires.
Like the some holy pitchforks on fire.

So he vanished into the gathering gloom.
As I sat alone in the seventh room.
And I realized that we are never alone.
And the seventh room became as quiet as stone.

Dave Proffitt
1/15/2013
1:34 am

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Broken


 

Dark words with a razor’s edge.
Spoken like a vocal wedge.
Designed to hurt.
Launched from angry mouths blurt.

Into the air not worthy of recognition.
Always the case never the exception.
Words can always hurt you.
Into our memories they chew.

Never to be forgotten.
Mental vegetables gone rotten.
We hurt each other like this every day.
In new and different ways.

Shocked that loved ones would say this.
Shocked their love so easily dismissed.
Like broken bottles lying on their sides.
We stand them back upright besides.

Like nothing is wrong.
A false smile that does not belong.
To the face who’s heart is broken.
Careless actions and words spoken.

 Tears down her cheeks still she believes.
From hope, but her heart grieves.
For it is the bearer of reality.
Writing its story of finality.

A story she chooses not to read.
Her feelings to this story bleed.
Into words she refuses to believe.
Words from her heart into her weave.

Their cold, hard and cutting truth.
Speaks to her forsooth.
Wonders where she went wrong.
Wonders how to fix her sad song.

A young boy with no father.
Whose son to him a bother.
Grows up never knowing his real Dad.
Wonders why he is bad.

 Asks himself if he is worthy.
Questions if he is really unworthy.
To have a parents love.
Questions and answers thereof.

Grows up with no encouragement.
On a diet of discouragement.
A broken vessel leaking confidence.
Does his best to restore the balance.

Too many broken souls.
Too many hurt feelings and hearts with holes.
Like broken bottles and broken glass.
Shattered hearts and scattered parts.

A wrecking yard of the human condition.
The product of twenty-first century attrition.
Broken humans in the junkyards of life.
End results of greed and strife.

Our technology has surpassed our humanity.
Good manners replaced with vanity.
This century’s insanity.
Has lost its Christianity.

To someone’s sensibilities.
To someone’s moral liabilities.
To someone’s skewed mental facilities.
To someone’s obvious inabilities.

To love someone honestly.
To show them with subtleties.
To look past human error.
To be the smile-bearer.

 To help a broken heart mend.
Puts our souls at peace in the end.
To bring back the lost smiles.
Rescue the friends lost in the miles.

Of heartache and sadness.
Of the wondering and madness.
To see the light in their eyes return.
To see the flame of life in them burn.

This is worth more than all the riches on earth.
A friend’s life’s rebirth.
That’s what we’re here for.
We are our brother’s keeper.

Dave Proffitt
1/8/2013
12:40 am