I Stand.

I Stand,
In life’s fiddling,
Confined, yet to elbow strings,
I dance to its rhythm.

With the feeble,
With cutis riddled with needles,
The ones in the middle of a riddle,
Or the ones dying or bedridden,
I Stand.

I Stand,
However damaged,
Or trundled by burdens in myriads,
I stand with the weary and heavy laden,
In prayers, praise and thanksgiving,
I stand.

©Gc.akunne, March 16, 2016