Strung
In increments of times unsung,
pure truth belittling, or restrung,
I string my passive rights, succumb
before my eyes - thus wanting's strum -
Is justice - and the world's dull hum
is sleeping, like a broken drum.
There in my heart - still beats upcome,
thee mine - thee mine, thee - loving's one -
My only constant - strung, not strung
but lifted by God's willing rung.
Copyright © Paula Larson | Year Posted 2005
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