Johnathon Jenkins Poems

Coming out from the fog paralyzed by the sites before me
Lifted up by her beauty warmed by her chest
Resting my head on her breast
Fills my sole with water dehydrated and parched from the long traveled desert
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Making it rain with the flick of the wrist
Showering the mountains and the valleys
High and above in the commanding seat
Decorated angels flying on the floor of the sky
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A song of personality that gets sung to the curious
Or taste of faith to the starving observer
Painted on to stand up to, on, or for the world
A whisper of peace, a tale of pain, a cry for love.
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