A Giants Chair

Resting in front of me, a giants chair. It, I know well It, is built with despair 12 feet tall made of steel. High back covered with stains of immorality, dishonesty and incredible pain Old and rusted through the years a formidable and thunderous tone it produces still within me Empty now, with weak knees and an apprehensive look I envision those who reigned before A mother who sells her son A man with fists of thunder A false counselor of god A tremble of discomfort within my own skin all the years I could never shake Tho the comfort I feel as I lay bare flakes the giants chair. The closer knee to ground quakes the chair to a minor resemblance And as I open my whispers to prayer my tone destroys all that is left of it With prayers placed in my sling twisted metal and steel lay before me to rummage through What once urged it into existence Is made plain. A boy, an innocent, a light, a purity has been recovered I hold their hands I lead them away There, a new chair To Him, who sits at the right hand Of the father