They ooze out of my pours like sweat,
Beads rolling down my neck.
The sun is blinding, her heat burns.
Have you forgotten me?
Rendered as ash into an urn...

Oh friend of flesh, bone and blood,
Have you forgotten the times we've had
Playing over gravel, into grime and mud?
Oh flesh of my bone,
Oh garment of mine,
Why would you limit me like this?
Your cold winds push me back,
Its intensity stops me in my track.
Why?
Are you afraid?
Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with me.
Truly.
Yet you make me pay the price.
Is this the value of my life?
And when I am abandoned
By friends of blood and soul,
They leave me with no other, but you,
The only friend of Spirit,
Or so I am told.

Are the winds capable of carrying my voice?
How will I feel your presence?
How can you fill a human void?
You are far greater,
And my limits come short.
It is a puzzle piece,
and while you are the table on which I rest,
You are not of the missing sort.

Is it deception? A heinous act!
Perhaps my capacity is far larger
Than the perceived aspects of the things I lack.
And as I study the human mind,
I am reminded of all the people and things I need.
And I've concluded: all I need is people.
So how would God wish that I proceed?

Up the hill I go, through
Shrouds of obscure sorrows and transient joys.
Cold sweats,
Cold sweats,
Shed from me old skin and I pass
Old threats.
Is it a hill?
For I assumed an unobservable peak in expectation.

Is it deception? A heinous act!
Something I've told myself?
But if there's only up
For as long as I'm alive,
How can there be eternal ease
Under everchanging skies?