High Off Confession

Gripes are supposed to go up, not down, so why do people get low, why do people get high, strangely enough, I was neither writing this, angels aren’t real right but people have airplanes. High Off Confession, would I really need a priest for this one

What goes good with confession?

Perhaps a side of God?
If my words could reach so high…
But would I rather keep my secrets,
to make my regrets the sod

with so many tear stained letters
that I ask, can you stop the rain
cause I’m leaving on a jet plane?
Only you’re the jet setter
A new profession;

and with my warmest regards
or sincerely
However, may I say it clearly?
Louder as my heart breaks apart
the question

can you, will you, will she?
No erase
when she pressed delete
That’s my prerogative but her discretion

Not the wind, the speed, the sky’s color or hue
even the air to breathe
someone get me a priest
for if I am to drown on a word or two
this concession

To live loud, slamming doors,
fist, the beating of my heart
Maybe a confession is not so smart
selfless, brave, honest or kind, anymore,
better my impression

of the sound of silence
Regain the spirit of the caveman
wondering not how any man
learned to fly, speak, or become giants
Yes, my regression

Because with my confession
would come another transgression

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

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