Linger on the Binder
My wish is to make it into an anthology.
I've framed thought with gold leaf and slag.
Buffed them into positive and negative action.
At times I've both bullied and buttressed the weak.
Trimmed away and added insult to my fellow man.
They say there's only one path.
At times darkness has thoroughly dusted this man.
The heart beats out of rhythm and rhyme.
Can't do much about soul crimes of the past.
I'm praying away the clutter in the mind.
Will I make it into the anthology of souls?
Only the pristine scale of God knows....
For now, I linger somewhere on the binder.
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