poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “priest”

someone get me a priest

he promised me I’ll never
die and I believed him

he said the flames of a candle
flickers not from man’s breath
but by the holy spirit itself

it’s like the wind
     it comes and it goes
sometimes unnoticed
one day it’s a breeze
     next a hurricane with a
murderous eye

not even the typhoon
can extinguish the flame
he tried telling those who might listen
those who may believe
angels are at work twenty-four seven
rescuing even the most wretched

december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

fat tuesday

it was a dreary afternoon
and the local parish priest
spent most of it in the box

i sat in a pew in the back
underneath the twelfth station
narrowing my bloodshot eyes
and focusing on the pain
in my hands and feet

i lost count the number of times
the confessional door
swung open and shut
and i imagined none of the sinners
could hold a candle to what troubled
my criminal mind

when the lights turned dim
i delivered my own penance
and ventured back home
under the bridge
in the punishing rain

march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the exorcist

I hadn’t been afraid for so long
that when the inevitable came
knocking at my door
I checked my pulse
and let the shadow in

an eerie thought cooled my palms
and sharpened my eyes
leading me to believe
I was on the verge
of losing my sanity

I issued a self-restraint citation
against my worse judgement
barricading myself
in the confessional
waiting for a priest

december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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