Tuesday, August 7, 2012

I Pray This High Hope Lasts

My teary eyed gaze into the reflected face of my foe-side-me
—once pallid with the soul’s anesthetic—has dried with pleasant conversation
and sweet sensations of God-blessed hope
have again graced the damp and weary hearth  of my torpid temple of torment

So glad again am I that I no longer have the freedom not to feel
for just as a home without a family is just a house
a hearth without a flame is crumbled charcoal to the pit


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