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Door of Charity (the eighth September Song in 2010)


I stand speechless at the blind door of charity. My hands glide the surface of its disguise taunting me with its veiled entrance of precious fare. Hand to fist, knocking a wishing well’s secret, my fingers swell with hope, the clank of a serious note. Upon the obscure wooden frame I tap a Brailled plea, a sightless rap, a prayer made of skin and bone.

© 2010 by mark prime




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  1. lisahgoldenSeptember 9, 2010 at 7:15 AM

    Your poems are wonderful. I've been reading your archives. Wow!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Mark PrimeSeptember 9, 2010 at 2:16 PM

    Anon,
    Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Mark PrimeSeptember 9, 2010 at 2:17 PM

    Lisa,
    Thank you. I am glad you think so. Your writing is a treat for me to read. I appreciate your talent.

    ReplyDelete

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