Landscape For the Little Ones

Those mental landscapes, rocky deserts with long winding salt paths of tears, suffering give an absurd direction, and always end into the many roaring tides of red and tan dunes I am a confessional poet who understands well the forty days of glory and the forty days of hell Many wild horses run free inside me Their maniac depressive mood is always masculine and cruel I let them trample over me, they crush my jittery self It is a natural consequence of who God wants me to be. The hurting always leads me to a place that is beautiful. It allows me to find Jesus meditating about the new earth And in these devastating places, poets become the voice of every little one suffering