When I look through transparent windows
I view over creation
My eyes fill the colors
The colors fill my tiring, laboring days
Boxes stack up with struggles
Papers written without ink
are wiped away by the puddles
and the foot stompers on the streets
Strength carries away my fading nightmares
The good fight
needs the seeds to plant
Out of the soil and roots is our sword and shield
Could we grow an extra tongue
to speak Truth more boldly
Or an extra ear
to hear over each echoing mountain?
Maybe we need a staff
when we walk through deserts and scorpions
Or we need a bay
so we land on shore and not wander away
The gnashing of teeth on chains
is heard like a siren
and can be seen like smoke
Seven days without learning makes one weak
How can I travel
to another galaxy
if I do not have a rope
to link myself back to home?
My rope is strung on a moon
and I fall into space
Finding only the map of the universe
I realize my home is there as well
We have never been to
where creation was never created
back home where I slowly walk
The trees can tell their stories of creation
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
When I look through transparent windows
I view over creation
My eyes fill the colors
The colors fill my tiring, laboring days
Boxes stack up with struggles
Papers written without ink
are wiped away by the puddles
and the foot stompers on the streets
Strength carries away my fading nightmares
The good fight
needs the seeds to plant
Out of the soil and roots is our sword and shield
Could we grow an extra tongue
to speak Truth more boldly
Or an extra ear
to hear over each echoing mountain?
Maybe we need a staff
when we walk through deserts and scorpions
Or we need a bay
so we land on shore and not wander away
The gnashing of teeth on chains
is heard like a siren
and can be seen like smoke
Seven days without learning makes one weak
How can I travel
to another galaxy
if I do not have a rope
to link myself back to home?
My rope is strung on a moon
and I fall into space
Finding only the map of the universe
I realize my home is there as well
We have never been to
where creation was never created
back home where I slowly walk
The trees can tell their stories of creation
Here is a poem I wrote 2 years ago.
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