Through the roiled dirt I trudge,
Bearing life, bearing hope,
For weary souls brought down in vain,
Their time ahead both cruel and tainted.
Through the marshy swamps I wade,
Exhaustion etched heavy upon my face,
Searching for souls, for men of Grace,
To grant respite, some well-earned rest.
Alas, they cry, for mother, for wife,
For sweet child, back home, sleeping tight,
As to life they cling, with mine arms as their own,
To die another day, with me by their side.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
A paltry apology would yet suffice,
From the tongues of men undeserving of Life,
Life so pure, so sacred and divine,
It’s worth forever lost, in the sands of time.
Yet here I linger on, an unworthy man,
Lips sealed, lest they acknowledge,
The transgressions of the mind,
The body and the soul,
Poor repayment, of a debt ne’er to be settled.
So as I kneel, at the altar of suffering,
Languishing in mine worldly calamities,
A paltry apology doth come to mind,
Drawn from protesting lips,
And forever lost, in the sands of time.
By Lashane Cooray
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC