Galilee
night had begun to beseech
thy wretchedness covered
deeply amidst toiling postures
craving naught gently i'd withered
throughout the infamous
meanings according to mark
while i'd entered a certain realm
surrounded by lost pebbles
underneath st anthony's
weathered sandals
we are but martyrs
wailed from an aching voice
of a fragile old woman captured
within haste soiled
by the very nature henceforth
seen as cleansing thee earths core
bottled just so catering to
the whelms of st francis
while day redeemed
sudden past times for the jest
marking the dawn at play
lessons folded between
creases that behold gravity
clinging to crawling vines
soiled in indifference
why we manage to master
the suns ray an yet hide
from the moon under my feet
noticing an open gate
concealing wrath beyond
a daunting task measured
in pure completeness
Copyright © Yolanda Nicholsen | Year Posted 2013
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