The cataclysm undefined.
The slowest breaking of my mind.
To rip apart the starry night,
To understand my fractured plight.
A burn that simmers in my soul.
A scar that cost a bitter toll.
Abide the borders far and wide.
Awareness that the truth has lied.
It is, it isn’t, but it could be,
The rapture of propriety.
Here is an appropriate poem,
That anyone can read.
It will not touch or move you,
It has nothing that you need.
So please enjoy the rhyming,
Though the substance I’ll neglect.
These words are plain and empty,
But politically correct.
You won’t find angst or passion,
Or an underlying truth.
You can read it to your cat or dog,
It’s even safe for youth.
Take all the ugly of this life,
I urge you now to mask it.
We’ll skip along together,
And take falsehood to our casket.
The Peculiar Pastor's Wife 