Listen, to the hard prayer . . .

A prayer sent through speed post,
And then taken to in person,
Hard prayer, not gentle so that he can just smile on it,
And run away for good,
Pestered, coaxed, bulllied, ragged,
Slaundered, pelted, ridiculed, stuffed,
And then torn apart both by words and actions,
He could not just smile at the hard prayer,
You make me write a poem about it,
And you think you are done with it,
But that's when things begin,
Until you send them down your throat,
Your intestines, and the sweaty ends of your palms.
Glistening spirit, that sticks and never lets you go,
Loved, Condemned, scorned, beat,
Overflowing with the memories,
A horrid world that you never want to belong to,
But that's where you belong,
Biter truth, It holds you down,
So that you fall plop,
twice on the floor, when you try to get up in the morning!
The green grapes that my daddy gave this evening,
Glistening spirit, that quenched the thirst,
but wrought the soul with the fire of a thousand logs,
The stealthy glances that she gives,
Thinks that I dont notice it,
Thine eyes are more stealthy, I laugh aloud,
You have two options, listener of the hard prayer,
Either take me to the world when I did not know that the red liquid was blood or . . .
Grey me overnight. . . . . . .