singing praises- A Writer’s Soul

Why sing praises,
When I can never think of any,
Nothing good at least,
Am I supposed to come clean?
Scrub myself, to the bone, to remove your trace on me,
Express myself in ways that make me raw and like you.
Because I can’t find any trace of you,
And for that I’m glad,
I can never sing your praises,
Because I never found anything worth my voice,
Worth my words, worth the feelings you find in other dedications,
Saturated in sweetness and sour,
It never painted a pretty picture of us,
Perhaps it never could, we just weren’t meant to have hymns and sonnets,
Building like a sinking stone,
Resentment never looked good on anyone

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Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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