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Feb 11, 2004, 11:49 PM
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Group: Posts: Joined: -- Member No.: |
I called a church parishioner;
being a prominent member of the community, it surprised me that she didn't know my name. “Oh yes, I think I know you. You're that boy who sings beside that really pretty girl on Sundays." Yes, that really pretty girl who sings on Sundays: With a voice so tragically beautiful, many wonder if God Himself sent an angel to grace us with her presence. An angel with wings blackened and torn, who marches to the altar in combat boots. Receives solace for her soul in a miniskirt, mixing the Blood of Christ with a shot of vodka. That really pretty girl who did meditative bong shots the night before with saints and sinners, peasants and kings. Invoking the name of the Almighty In the back of a car exactly as God created her; feeding her apple to Adam and his snake. That really pretty girl thrives in the shadows of sin and shrinks away from all sunlight. Lost in a perpetual winter, never knowing the warmth and comfort of untainted joy - “Is she your girlfriend?†“No,†I replied. She was. “But I do sing with that really pretty girl on Sundays.†|
| gemma |
Feb 12, 2004, 08:34 PM
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Aspiring ![]() ![]() Group: Basic Member Posts: 68 Joined: Dec 20, 2003 From: Seattle Member No.: 814 |
I liked this a lot.. My mother used to insist upon my going to church. Only no one wrote a poem about me, that i know of. But I digress. Nice poem. I really liked "that really pretty girl who did meditative bong shots the night before with saints and sinners, peasants and kings."
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