Why do I ache deep
And love weakly?
Why do I carry the rain
Like drooping petals
Where are my hands;
lassoed to my chest.
God is right here.
And there
And here.
Yet, I see only my mind.
a child on the teeter toter of
Guilt and Hope
Trusting in Him, sandpaper,
my soul a rusty maple.

-nJb

 

Check out my book “Pouring Echoes” on Amazon!

 

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