Tiny orbs of mistrust
gather at the edge-
a slit, one of two in an observant center
too heavy to sustain they cascade from the orifice
plummetting to their death
in a resounding yet insignificant splash.
Hands outstretched toward the glowing ominous sky
tears intertwined with raindrops-brother and sister
fingers interlocked as a plea to God
thunder booming and lightning illustrating
The Response.
Acutely jumbled limbs too feeble to kneel
but willing in all devotion they stumble,
crooked and fumbling about on the
coarse peppered sand beneath him.
Shouting out into the night
his strained voice grows frail and weak-
indistinguishable amongst the rustling and swaying trees
he shouts louder still to be heard.
Holding his limp limbs close to his body,
rocking and swaying in the clearing of the trees
he whispers to himself a solitary prayer.
As dawn approaches, golden and glistening on the horizon
he is born again.
2007-08-25
07:07:59
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4 answers
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asked by
paixfille08
2
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry