“We Are The Horror In The Lord’s Love Poem.”

We are the aliens we fear.

We are that which no longer knows Earth; we no longer walk it barefoot, we no longer feel its rain, and we no longer feel its blowing kiss of a wind.

We are the hard consonants in a sea of soft vowels. We are the sudden spurt of bone chilling water in a warm shower. We are egg shell that’s dropped in the omelet that surprises when chewed. We are one second too soon, a sound too loud, a kiss too short.

Frankly, we are bad.

But we are also ever changing, and ever bettering.

Falsely yours,
Derrick C. Brown