Sentences line up and wait their turn, For spirit’s whisper finding inky flow, With words assembled in a loving mass, That hearts might heal and raise their sinking souls;
When words begin to swim and hit their mark, Chosen lexicons so oft severe, Pain and sadness left within their wake, A forgotten spirit hides once more to sob;
Seething burns that blister soulful flesh, A darkness overcomes the lighted glow, And when our hearts attempt to have a voice, It isn’t from our hearts that lips dispatch;
Guidance moves while I remain uncertain, Though lessons that are passed – already known, When days arrive that spirit’s voice is heard, All shall know that love resides within;
With “loneliness” removed from native tongue, Finding grace in everything we see, Only then will we become aware,
