These grasses are wet
Scattered all over, harvest
Our feet are bare, I know, but
Don’t slip.

These times are stones
Our faith is fire-branded, yet when tested with gold,
Alike is not the same
Don’t flip.

If the gourd isn’t of God
Don’t sip
And when the nights nigh dawn
Don’t sleep.

for the sun comes,
for the son comes…

 

5 replies
  1. Ochez
    Ochez says:

    These words are deep
    like a missile thrown at the board
    And the target scored, triumph is the feel
    I know. It got the left of me
    I won’t slip
    I won’t sleep.
    You’re deep Frank! Thanks

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Want to join the discussion?
Feel free to contribute!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.