Scratching the Post

. . .

Scratching the Post

This life I live; a torn man once condemned.
Squeezing pains hand; grasped tight to the end.
I do now know, where life’s cold wind does blow.
Begging for strength to break free from its hold.

Lonely, slow pacing thin cobblestone aisle.
The pale passage comes, forlorn, without style.
The usher long gone; live radiance no more.
A shrouding cold frost permeates that door.

God, help, and please, have repetitive ease;
Shaken absurd with my cold blood, it bleeds.
Healing moments, that cold cavern brought forward;
In response to another finally heard plea.

The moonlights beam, cast shadows not right.
A frosty stone righteousness roars to fight.
From the earth, the sky, and waves of the sea;
Twisted dried driftwood, grown rampant in me.

Ready again, as all days always end,
In sure wait for that suns rise again.

SHEA

The might of the word...is YOURS!

"POETRY SHELF"