I wake up in a cold sweat the moon sneers - terrified - What have I missed. Life kept life-in, things kept happening while I was amidst. Lost in terror of fear beaten down by wayward cares. Finally, the water receeded a little- thought I could walk on water alone... I must atone To find my way home I must walk in the sun
Tag: poetry for the soul
40 Years Long
I could cry... 40 years long... a cursed song. What a fight 40 years of night... always missing the light. Why Lord why? We believe the lies and never try. In circles we go there was no Jericho only dry dessert land. Thrist nearly kill we! It took a rock. Still we were loud and wrong not strong we did not believe the Big Man. 40 long years even after the splitting sea it took one generation long... before we see touch the Promise Land.
The Mercy of God
The Mercy Of God I cannot see what may harm me yet I am unharmed. I do not do What's right But yet I am fruitful. I fail But still win. I stop many times but still finish. I reap where I do not sow. I know The Mercy of God.
Believe
I accept what I cannot see touch or feel. I know I don't know but I will go to where ever I should be. I have this dream stars aligned for me I see but not clearly but I know it is for me. I believe...
But for the Grace of God
There goes a young boy with spring in his cheeks and the glow of the Sun he sees an old soul going slow not vital enough to make a show sweeps him aside "Old man you must go death awaits!" The old man shakes his head he understands seeing brings the young dread - they too one day - if they survive - will be like him. There is too much pain today and so into the corner he is swept for days on end. Then he goes further up the road - an accident. Slowly he moves closer. Ah it is the young man! His glow now diminshed winter haunts him now He has been brought to an early end: "there but for the grace of God go I"
Unbearable Loss
Withered hands on withered lands infertile with blood. Snipped bud attract carrion crows they move slow but seem to know the marching dance of loss. A knife twisted the attempt and the deed defeats us. A river forged blood let blood washed all guilty brainwashed by decaying dreams and nightmarish bliss accuses us all: how much did we know?
Herd Mentality
Chose your victim get ready for the kill neatly packed together we rush and snap at will. No rhyme to our reason displeasure is well seasoned with the thrill... Let's chase this sinner stone him to death then sweep our dirty linens under our beds to rest. Once the act is committed you cannot go back remember loylaty to the pack. Now I do to get along sick promises sold now seem so cold dreams once fashioned now seem so old wearied lacking compassion. Now I must walk against the tide. I stop and wait. I must go back.
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