by A.J. Prufrock
How many years and hours and days Will it take to unlearn all my protesting ways And know first instant, that You reveal to heal. Will I ever quit my cowering and simply stand Upright in courageous trust beneath your hand While You, all wise and kind and always just Spread thick your fragrant balm Infusing, curing, filling every wrong. For You are not a cold clinician Diagnosing and prescribing from afar But lover lying with me in my agony Fingers tracing every weary scar.
A.J. Prufrock—middle-aged and greying—lives on thirteen tucked-away acres with one dog, two cats, seven chickens, and a single guinea hen. The guinea hen is single by his own choosing. Prufrock is not. For more on Prufrock’s full-length novels, see ajprufrock.com
One thought on “Weary Scars”
Love the work of A.J. Prufrock! Novels are fantastic as well. Page turners, you have to reread.