Self-Conscience


Self-conscience and shy she’s the singer.
Football T-shirt and jeans a quintessential dead ringer.
Of the awkward teenager, this beautiful word slinger.
Her pitch and timber dead on, her floating words linger.

 

On the air of her youth
Sung with uneasiness and truth.
Glancing at her father with her eyes
She has us all mesmerized.

 

She brought tears to my eyes.
Her untrained voice flies.
Giving it’s innocence not heard these days.
Hypnotic in it’s own ways.

 

Forgotten second verse, she fears.
Will fall on critical ears.
So she starts over again.
With the first verse when.

 

I notice that I hadn’t noticed
Paying heed to the lyrics was the remotest.
Thing from her performance
To her audience her conformance.

 

To see this young woman’s purity
For her music and her maturity.
She renews my faith in the young
All done with just the song she sung.

 

Dave Proffitt
3/31/2013
2:10 pm.

HARD


She’s hard in her own way
But not to hear her say.
Been around the block a time er two
Been there and done that a few.

 

Life’s lines etched into a face hard as granite
I think she said her name was Janet.
I bought her a beer for a closer look
At this female enigmatic book.

 

Jet black shoulder length hair
The truth her smile would not bear.
Her confidence a product of too much ridicule
Faith in her abilities waxes miniscule.

 

Sadness tugs at the corners of her pretty eyes
She speaks in short sentences ending in sighs.
Tosses her head as looks at me with a pirates smile
Her dark eyes flashing with promises and guile.

 

She’s well preserved despite all the miles
Bears wear and tear from the paintbrush of life’s trials.
She’s wondering what I want
She’s wondering what she can flaunt.

 

So accustomed to self-marketing
Her constant efforts admonishing.
Desperately wanting to be accepted
Having her feelings instead intercepted.

 

By the missiles of deceit
By those who lie and cheat.
By those who would run her down.
By those who would let her drown.

 

In a sea of loneliness and tears.
Has her own set of demons and fears.
She hides behind a shaky smile
She finds few things in life worthwhile.

  

An easy woman to be with your bet
What you see is what you get.
Still some innocence left in those eyes
Not easily seen unless you try.

 

 I can make her laugh and smile
This hard woman I entertain for a while.
I don’t have to choose my words with her
Which makes our conversation less than confer.

 

Her hands bear the scars of hard work.
Short fingernails, hands that are never mistook.
Still bears the refinement of femininity
This hardness bears sexual infinity.

 

I think she’d clean up really well.
This rode hard and put away wet belle.
Still holds onto a ray of hope and faith
From me to you gentle reader, this wraith.

 

I cannot keep my eyes off her roughhewn landscape
Bullet-proof in her own way and shape.
Attractive in a no-nonsense way
Questioning eyes that want to play.

 

Why some people in life get hammered so nice
From some cosmic roll of the dice.
Others born with silver spoons in their mouths.
Who never suffer a day in their miserable lives.

 

Not so with this lady across from me.
Still I’m starting to like what I see.
She’s reading this from me.
Smiling her fears beginning to flee.

 

Warmth tugging at the corners of her mouth
My self-preservation has gone south.
I’m surrendering to this enchantress beyond wear and tear.
Beneath her embattlements a visage quite fair.

 

The band is playing a nice slow song
Inviting  me to dance and worries that she said it wrong.
Her breathing on my neck as I hold her.
Steering her around the dance floor, she purrs.

She has this slinking, animal like motion
A rolling asynchronous ocean.
She’s intoxicating this female battle ship.
Long of torso and muscular hips.

 

I find her imperfections a welcome sight
Tired of the perfect face, and heart of slight
She’s been a long time coming.
She’s music becoming.

 

She’s music to my ears.
She’s the sum of all fears.
To some that hold perfection dear.
To those that view her queer.

 

She smells like truth
She’s the candy for my sweet tooth.
She tastes like sweet vermouth
What I saw is what I got.

 

And now I see her just about every day
There is no price on my heart to pay.
She says she loves me for who I am
Because I’m not the flim flam man.

 

So I think I’ll stick with this lady.
Who to some may look shady.
I no longer see her rough edges.
To her heart I give my pledges.

 

I trust her with my heart.
I felt this from the start.
This hard woman hewn of granite
This is milady Janet.

 

Dave Proffitt
3/25/2013
1:25 am

The Church of Forevermore The Sixth Room (Envy)


 

Arnold’s father died when he was young
Leaving Arnold angry, wound tight and high-strung.
A more bitter young man you could not find
His eyes the picture screens of a disturbed mind.

 

The Church is calling me tonight
I cannot be quiet its might.
Most times easier to just attend
So another night in there I will spend.

 

The Church’s dark door with its animated writ
My revulsion with it the Church remits.
It opens with no effort on my part
It’s gravitation I feel upon my heart.

 

The candle of shadows flickering at me
Its dark children shrink from the light and flee.
“We have a problem in room six tonight”
The candle says its flame casting strange light.

 

And so the candle speaks to me in the Church of Forevermore
It’s just a Church and nothing more.
Seven rooms, seven gables and seven floors
It’s a Church like none before.

 

I walk into the first room on the first floor
In the Church of Forevermore.
The air is black and thick it clings and wears
The night unable to relinquish its hold upon the air.

 

My eyes seeing things that are not there
That run into the shadows whose illumination will not bear.
The light of day
In the darkness play.

 

I come to the stairway to the upper rooms
The door swings open surrenders the gathering gloom.
I once again ascend the stairs to the next floor
In the Church of Forevermore.

 

Its ancient woods creak under my weight
Its bannister polished and ornate.
I have come to the sixth room of the sixth floor
It’s just a Church and nothing more.

 

A light as black as coal spills out from under the door
A light of blackness in the Church of Forevermore.
Such blackness that it made the night glow
Unholy in its visage, unnatural in its flow.

 

And I was remiss to enter therein
The Blackness wound round me, was cold on my skin.
The door swung open and I went in.
An orb of blue light appeared and began to spin.

 

And it’s blue wavelength washed into the blackness
To every nook and cranny with alarming alacrity.
It was then I saw Arnold sitting on the pew
The blackness from his eyes, like some witches brew.

 

And I thought that he was dead
For his countenance filled me with dread.
And I saw my blue angel hovering over his head.
He spoke to Arnold and this is what he said.

 

“Thy heart is blackened with envy and grief.”
“You must release your father for your relief.”
So I remembered the day Arnold’s father died.
And I will never forget how Arnold cried.

 

His mother could not be still his grieving heart
For Arnold would not let her do her part.
And this killed her a little every day.
She became transparent and faded away.

 

Arnold became envious of children with fathers
To him this became a constant bother.
So his heart blackened with time
Until the image of his father within him sublimed.

 

And was no more.
The Blackness to him did implore.
Arnold’s countenance became frightening to behold.
And strange tales about Arnold were told.

 

If ever a man lived without a soul.
It was Arnold to behold.
For he spoke to no one.
Words to Arnold were outrun.

  

I found myself thinking of Arnold one day
His life story upon me did weigh.
And my blue angel followed me around that day
And I could hear his thoughts on my mind play.

  

I am with Arnold, and the blue angel on the sixth floor
In the Church of Forevermore.
With seven rooms, seven gables and seven floors
It’s just a church and nothing more.

 

I watch as the blue Angel touches Arnolds eyes
The blackness from within them flies.
Arnold’s body jumps as if from some electric shock
His blackness fleeing like dark birds of a flock.

  

And he looks so frail and broken
Human wreckage like some abused token.
The Blue Angel places his hand on Arnolds heart.
His attempt at Arnold’s restart.

 

And Arnold’s blackness died that day
And Arnold passed on that way.
His darkness too high a price to pay.
Parts of Arnold kept alive by the blackness they say.

     

“Weep not for Arnold, his soul is in heaven.”
My blue angels words of leaven.
So Arnold’s chapter with me has finally closed.
A smiling paper boy plus tragedy juxtaposed.

  

Not all the stories end happily ever after
But Arnold’s soul is with his father in the hereafter.
And in the end that’s all that really matters.
Because most of the time we don’t have all the answers.

 

Another event I was witness to.
In the room of Envy’s view.
In the sixth room of the sixth floor.
In The Church of Forevermore.

 

It’s only a Church and nothing more.
This strange Church with seven rooms and seven floors.
Seven cardinal sins behind seven doors.
Strange scenes in the Church of Forevermore.

 

Dave Proffitt
3/9/2013
3:17 am

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Church of Forevermore The Fifth Room (Wrath)


My friend Margaret the quintessential non-believer.
Stern of face this human fact retriever.
Her son lies connected to hospital machines.
His life displayed in waveforms on monitor screens.

Keeping him alive or so they say.
Nothing noble about living this way.
Margaret won’t pull the plug knows there is nothing after.
Thinks she’s saving him from a false hereafter.

He is asking, she’s not hearing.
His pleadings to her endearing.
To let him go, his time has come.
Her disbelief has left her deaf and dumb.

And so the fifth  angel has intervened.
A parlance with Margaret she has convened.
So once again I am asked to attend.
My skills with this twenty-first century pen.

To convey another spectacle dear reader.
I’m sure Margaret will feel like a loss leader.
Until the fifth angel to her is seen.
With eyes of silver whose face is gaunt and lean.

The Black door is in front of me once again.
I’m starting to think it will become my bane.
With it’s holy writ burning and dancing.
Around the doors edge ever advancing.

So the door opens for no effort on my part.
And the familiar pull upon my heart.
This old church is getting to know me.
With each visit she peers within me to see.

What’s in my heart and soul.
If there’s any virtue to extol.
A candle that speaks burning bright.
Casting strange shadows that take flight.

And run up the walls and out of sight.
Fleeing from their maker with freight.
“Welcome David we have a guest in room five.”
The candle says to me sounding more dead than alive.

I walk through the room on the first floor.
Through the room of Lust in the church of Forevermore.
It’s just a church and nothing more.
A church with seven rooms’ seven gables and seven floors.

Once again I come to the door of the stairway.
It swings open before me empty and gray.
Again I ascend the steps to the next floor.
In the Church of Forevermore.

Its ancient woods creak under my weight.
Its bannister polished and ornate.
I have passed through all the rooms to the fifth floor at last.
The door of the fifth room with its knob of crystal glass.

I see Margaret alone huddled upon a pew.
She hasn’t seen me hidden from her view.
So I hold my ground and look to see.
A beam of silver light materializing in front of me.

Illuminating Margaret’s gaunt facial lines.
Chiseled by the Hammersmith of times.
For the sorrow she suffers for her son.
For her disbelief that cannot be undone.

Wishes that she could.
Knows that she should.
A constant battle for her although.
The Science Demon will not let her go.

The room is filling with strange music.
It’s melancholy brooding colored with metaphysics.
And so the Chromeangel appears.
Margaret’s face now wet with tears.

And the angel put forth her hand and touched her tears.
There went forth a brilliance upon them I could not bear
.And then I could look upon them once again.
And I saw Margaret’s pretty face, her miles of pain.

And I saw her lines of sorrow.
I wanted to take this from her beg steal or borrow.
Her life a legacy of non-belief.
Her life forged from her grief.

And I felt so sorry for her.
For times that are and times that were.
“Margaret your friend is here.”
The Angel whispers in her ear.

Margaret turns to look upon me.
And I’m smiling through tears she sees.
For I know what has put her here.
I know what she’s dealt with through the years.

“So you can see there is something beyond?”
Tears from her eyes she smiles to respond.
“Oh David I have to go see my son.”
“Now I know his time is outrun.”

And we left the Church together her and I.
And we wiped each other’s eyes dry.
So we went to the hospital the next day.
And I hear Margaret to the doctors say.

“Please take my son off of life support.”
“For I don’t want to cut his afterlife short.”
And she was smiling when she said this.
So I knew her disbelief she had dismissed.

Margaret’s Son passed on that day.
And she lost her wrath the same way.
So I held her as she cried.
Until all the loss was gone from inside.

So goes the fifth story from the Church of Forevermore.
Its just a Church and nothing more.
A Church with seven rooms seven gables and seven floors.
And I am the storyteller here forevermore.

Dave Proffitt
3/2/2013
9:41 pm.