I ask God why I don’t write
In first person anymore
He says it’s my fault
I agree, You took it from me
I say, trying to find purpose
Fault, an earthquake rests
And waits for a seismic shift
I drifts, and becomes we again
I know not the collective power
Of consciousness, so I leave it
Alone, by itself it weeps
We peep and see it is just in passing
We comfort what numbness could be
Craft out sweet Lord’s compassion.
Christopher Baird 2011 ©
No comments:
Post a Comment