Judged Proper

Preacher teach me

what I must attain

to this level of me

I must to maintain.

No answer so my

dear priestly hand

will the air ride to

sanity to try land.

I can only paint I

exert with a thrust

that which I do I

seek for why must.

That is why I cry,

that’s why wrecked

is my vessel I void

of feeling correct.

So I guess I’ll sly

slip passed a place

found have I bliss

is warm embrace.

Take it up to me

for to judge proper;

I take that power

only to feel softer.

That that hug for

me was a lovely toy

makes the child in

me try to enjoy.

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