I Want People to Share Their Poetry

Hypocrisy

Countless playthings do I love,
Low in station yet above,
Darkest days could be abated
I never saw the painted dove
Yet for me has barely rated.

Cacophony of melting feelings,
Three layers deep of half-healed healings,
Yet I sing your primal song.
Two feet tall with 6 foot ceilings.
Vaulted skies where I belong.

Cumulous whites lifted high,
Amidst a peerless late day sky,
Fretting less uplift we sing
Bandits steal my heart not nigh,
Yet I bow unto the King.

Patrick