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Click hereUntarnished life
in a nail impaled palm,
seven hundred pages
of comfort,
expensive soul balm.
Papi reads
because he can,
turns paper thin truths
in paper dry hands.
Pray, surrender,
let them sleep,
while muffled distant
engines roar
to split the ocean
in behind and before.
Hours fall
overdue sweet
and America beckons
on the horizon.
Life will be good,
yes
life will be,
this time.
Papi reads,
but nobody listens
to evangels anymore,
they all left Jesus
waving good riddance
on a burning shore.
is the one families pass down, generation after generation. This poem has a fragile and wonderful feel to it. Great work, Liar
makes a person think liar. i enjoyed this, like most of your stuff!
stuff here.
~Papi reads
because he can,
turns paper thin truths
in paper dry hands.~
That's a poem all by itself.
great job
....any immigrant can relate to, the wistfull memories of "The Old Country" mixed with the hope for a new and better life. I have lived this poem in my way, simply lovely.
:Note: I am not using the thermometer any more.
My comments on your poem are on the new poems thread in the poetry forum. I did not use the thermometer for rating.