Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

My Two Fathers Are Watching

He towered over the troubled child,

virtuous, virgin of hope,

a child,

ripped from a child herself.

Messy when she fingerpaints,

messy when she scribbled words that would one day become whole worlds,

messy when she tried to climb the kitchen cabinets for biscuits before dinner,

his very own Macarena.

He had such hope for her,

unable to see her human failings,

and how he’d feel about them,

because a father’s love is beautifully blind,

and she was fantastically flawed,

in a way he would learn to love,

once the disappointment dimmed.

Now,

he still towers over her,

watching from God’s garden as his cherished child fingerpaints herself into futile corner after futile corner.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

The Door Is Locked

The door is locked.

Your soul is stained and scarred,

staring with envy at the bright white of mine.

My soul shudders, shakes with fear,

because I was just supposed to be in and out.

I was never meant to stay,

you know.

I was never supposed to stay.

Just a quick visit,

then back home,

but the door is locked,

and evil is evolving before my eyes,

prising the purity from my cold, almost dead fingers.

You weren’t even supposed to notice I was here,

but now your lens is red,

and I am headed somewhere horrid,

with bloody handprints all over me.

Never happy,

never meant to be,

but never given the opportunity,

to tread a different path,

because this was always where I was going.

I was never supposed to stay.

Just a quick visit, and I’d be on my way,

but I’m still here,

covered in blood,

soul, stained and scarred,

eyes, glassy and gone.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

God Hates Joey Ryan

God is not the saviour of the ghastly.

He is not a guiding light back to salvation.

The truth is,

forgiveness is never free,

but you can’t buy it,

and the road to redemption is drowned in darkness.

You can’t recite bible verses to get into heaven,

because a clean soul is not a reward for good memory and a projected voice.

Salvation is not an exam,

silly boy,

it’s not a sprint,

when the world is closing in,

and you need to rehab your image,

it’s forever.

Forever proving that you’re better than you were the day before,

and you have to mean it,

because,

I mean…

He’s like Santa on steroids,

this guy sees EVERYTHING.

God is not a replacement for taking accountability.

God is not a replacement for repairing the damage that you did.

Bloody hands will never truly be clean,

and you can’t stop the tears you prompted,

by praying and begging a bloke you JUST started believing in.

Your hands may never be clean again,

but you can keep them to yourself.

Your mouth may never speak pure words,

but it can apologise.

God will never return your calls,

until you make things right with his children.