I haven’t written much lately but did have a moment of inspiration for the following little poem. I hope you enjoy.
Blood is Spilt, wounds become scars with secrets that are kept and then revealed. And the minutes tick by. We sin, sacrifice saints, live, die and hurt as those minutes tick into hours.
Tears fall for those lost and hatred abounds for those who trespass against us. We breathe until we are extinguished and we are buried in cold earth no longer witness to the seasons and the sun. And without us, our children watch as the hours become years and our trespasses become their prejudices.
Evil rides upon the high winds blowing through our hearts, within our souls. We struggle to hold our ground as the leaves are ripped from the trees and the branches strain to hold on the roots which give them life.
And yet we sway in the breezes of compassion and forgiveness. We become fragile in strength and weak in our resolve. And as the years become decades, we dwindle away into the dust from which we were created.
And in time we will have experienced this journey called life. We will know what it is to cry, sigh, and die within the centuries that have allowed us the moments we used to take steps from the birth to burial when at last time waves to us all a lasting goodbye.