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Come To Me
Stretched out on wing of weariness,
The total collapse of the flesh.
Arms and legs, limp and pitiless.
The world’s escarpments hurt..enmesh.
Come to me, says the one buried…
Who rose from the grave. Likewise grim,
With heaviness, her soul carried
To the foot of the cross…to Him.
The death bed’s a feather, so white.
Her guardian angel plucked from
her largesse…quintessence takes flight.
To heavy hearted, He says Come.
Decomposing in shallow grave,
But not so the soul…it is brave.
Copyright ©
Kim Rodrigues
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