To keep Senses Five distinctly different being mainly focused on blog writing attached to the five senses, I figured that intimacy is surely a grand place to place an excerpt from a future work of mine. This is actually not poetry, but initially started out as an attempt at a short story.


Well, short story has morphed into a longer story, not sure if it will quite reach novel length, and truthfully I hope not, but as good authors have told me, characters take on a life of their own, so perhaps it’s not for me to say how long the story shall take to tell itself, so to speak. 


Alas,here it is, an excerpt from a rough draft I was working on last year I believe. I’ve touched it up a bit, by taking out some unnecessary words. I absolutely hope and intend to finish this story, depending on how life goes! For now, as far as writing, I await to see how Grasp Fire (my first poetry book) goes, which is my current main focus, take it from there! 


Hope you all enjoy, and please leave me feedback! Some of you know various other ways to contact me, otherwise leave a comment, or drop me an email if you wish to keep it private 


I sit here in the confines of my small apartment room, like I do every night, deep in prayer. The apartment has a particular smell of stuffiness that has been here since I moved in, nearly three years ago to the day. It’s September. The window is open a tiny bit, allowing hellish, scorching air into the room. Yet, still the stuffiness remains. My name is Thomas Franz. I only just recently turned 44 years old. I am a tall man, at 6’4. I have auburn hair, a little more red than brown. I never could really grow facial hair, and even at 44, I still have somewhat of a baby face, or so I’m told on an annoyingly constant basis. The second most observed comment besides those on my height, of course, which people feel they must share with me, as if I wasn’t aware how tall I was, or my hair colour.


The reason I’m here, the church needed another priest to fill in once upon a time, three years ago, and I grew to love this place. Even though it slightly resembles Hell, on a tiny scale. Phoenix, Arizona. Certainly plenty of souls that need saving. That’s why they called me here. Not into my apartment, but into the city of Phoenix. I have been a man of the cloth, one of the nicer nicknames for what I am, since I was 28 years old. 16 years now, and here I sit, in a scene resembling one you would see in a time long ago, minus the setting. I am kneeled here, before the cross on the wall, with Jesus hanging there, his crown of thorns digging into his temple.


It reminds me of the suffering that the Lord endured. Also, symbolic to me of the pain one endures in life, to a much smaller extent. I am Catholic after all, I believe I need to feel the pain, not deny it, like some other faiths. To each their own. But, as I’m knelt here, beside the heavenly father, a father myself, I dish out my own lashings via a whip, not lightly, to remind myself that I am still a man. I am flesh and blood. I have temptations which I must remember to resist. The whip was my dear friend, and it helped me remember. Remember my love.  


Love. That is what the world is all about. The world needs love. Regardless of what sense of love you speak of. For me, it had always been a love of God. The holy trinity. My father taught me this love. Though, no one can really teach you love, either you have a love  for something or you don’t. No one can make you feel love; a woman, a movie, a song. It is what touches your heart and soul, that’s what makes you have love for something. You could, for example, have a favorite dog that no one else can stand, for one reason or another. To you, this dog is your whole world. Perhaps because you rescued the dog, and something substantial happened at that time in your life, making you realize that the dog also rescued you.