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The golden streets in my dreams
Show me the path to redemption
Silences the screams
Hides the shame
And rips everything that I've ever known
At the broken heart seams
Ropes and strings, pulled and tied
Nooses and knots, the reason you lied
More likely than not
The causes of why I've cried
Giving in and giving out promises
That only last until I died
Yesterday
And there was no sighs
No questions of why
The path to the ghost of my soul
Disappeared with the blood
That endlessly flowed
But I didn't know
I couldn't see
The transparency of my misery
There for everyone else to see
Everyone could have guessed
I'm sure they all knew
Life flew past my pain
Skipping over the doubts and regrets
Of all the things I didn't do
It's amazing how death can finally
Get you through
And life is something
You never really knew
I have within me,
wrapped around my heart,
certain kind of feelings
which words failed to explain.
The greys and blacks
Are fighting again,
Despite an abundance
Of food and shelter.
The greys are malcontent,
And bigger, with increasing numbers.
They've declared a Jihad,
They're relentless;
And won't stop 'til they've
Occupied all the trees out front.
The trees in question aren't the issue;
Others have similar branches and fruits;
It's their belief system
Territory is everything;
It's their manifest destiny.

During a lull in fighting
They graze side by side,
Always wary of proximity;
But the greys know
Their tails are larger and thicker,
And they recognize the enemy.

I know better
Than interfere
With their shenanigans.
Oh, I could quell the activity,
Scare them for a while
Pelting stones and gushing water;
But they'll re-group, stronger,
Like ants,
Like us.
It's a conflict I can't fix.
They need to figure it out
On their own.
The world is nuts.
rained heavy on the forlorn
white stone

April dusk had stood still
on deserted lane

iron gate to the lawn
showed mossed sleepy graves

tiptoed on the overgrown grass
for epitaph hard to read

Expect great things from God
opened eyes to more widely catch

Attempt great things for God
couldn't ruin it the ravage of years

outside tombstone waited a world
in the drizzle echoed the missionary's deathless sermon.
Reflections on my visit to William Carey's grave at Serampore, West Bengal, India.
William Carey (1761-1834) was a missionary and reformer who worked in India.
He may have done more for modern missions work than any other man who ever lived with the exception of Saint Paul.
The words in bold are his epigram.
Please note the first line of each stanza has 5 words and the words in the second lines increase from 2 to 8.
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