Broke

He arrived here broken.
Not Humpty-Dumpty broken,
more like broke.
Not ain't-got-no-money broke
(although that's true),
but mainly, you know, broke -
not a winner.
He used to pray for an invasion of angels
to come and heal him
of this grievous wound;
gift him with assertiveness
and impulsiveness
and fasterness.
But God didn't listen.

He remains here reticent,
cautious,
measured -
broke.

5 comments:

  1. Interesting poem, John. I've been listening to Joni Earaeckson Tada for the past couple of days on Revive Our Hearts. I have a hard time with God didn't listen when our circumstances don't change. Our ways aren't His. More than likely you had something else in mind...

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  2. invasion of angels...

    now that's a picture i can, in my small way, imagine seeing. i has a powerful sound.

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  3. i sure like the blue of your shirt against the red of the barn. along with the white of the t-shirt and the window frame.

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  4. I want fasterness too.

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