I’ve been forged in the white hot heat of passion
I’ve been annealed and tempered in the furnace of Despair
I’ve been honed and sharpened by teacher Pain
I’ve spent time amid the homeless
And written poems with the insane
I am the cylinder that misfired
Pointed at my head
I am the broken rope
Wealed and congealed
Upon my throat
Even Death rejects me
I am the scarred man
The imperfect creature
Funnels run down my cheeks
Home for familiar tears
While you are edging your lawn this weekend
And putting down the weed and feed
Know we are out there
Watching…
Waiting…
Feeling
Crying…
Knowing…
Living…
Dying…
We are the imperfect Creatures
God’s abandoned Children
And we are everywhere