Chad J. Newton

Frustrated Scribbles
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2001-11-13 00:51:27 (UTC)

Preacher's Son

January Wind whistled outside,
Inside the tent he was hot and bothered.
We wrestled awhile Chris and I,
He let me win the first time.
Then I was down
A bug beneath his finger.
My smile faded as his grew.
I was struggling then, not wrestling--
escape.
His words were deliberate and heavy
like voices in dreams
"Shhh"
"I chose you"
"It is Okay"
no.
My arms ached, held down
tired
My mind clouded, confused
why?
I then surrendered
to the unwarranted touch.

cjn


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