I Am a Child
A male peacock that soars free,
As one may aspire to be.
Free until reality,
Is a crow all one can be.
So weave stitches onto these lips,
For the words that come out of it,
Unravel wolves in sheep’ clothing.
Despite one yet to resemble many.
Gesture looks at one’s mirror,
To see not what eyes see.
But how a despairing heart,
Impaired can repair.
Not by mere reflection,
But by holy interventions.
When one calls upon Father,
And be responded with “Child”.
Copyright © Poet Lazey | Year Posted 2017
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