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most times, i wander past troubled winds of shore
when dark sighs heave upon a hazed door,
the crux of crosses seems to welcome me
listening to whines of own stories seeking plea,
and the wings of gray clouds immerse in cries
pausing, i carry gratitude with grace still in my eyes,
when moments are lid covered, like mourning shawl
my senses stoop ever weary as they begin to fall,
then I hear a chuckling of street kids spilling the day
as if hours are given by a Maker to strum and gaily play,
by then; I hold His LIGHT, a sliver of it begins to bloom
erasing crumbs of doubt in shades of twisted gloom.
once, thrice by the armchair are letters spread around
mostly payables , some due end of month’s mound
neck shrinks till coffee brews, like soft smoke in heat
thanking the Father for a home that sings in mellow beat
with smiles easing burdens that seem heavy weight
for heart’s growling hides many things like love, hope, and fate,
my eyes, my skin become plump again, and dear life wanders by
prayers whisper 'all is right', a joyful world wraps a mellow sigh,
looking up at the night’s ray, simple pleasures cannot be bought
I bow for His mercy and let go, to rest on His Light ever sought.
all rights reserved
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Robert Ball's Honoring the Father Contest
by: nette onclaud
Copyright © nette onclaud