Tell me why
the goosebumps grow
even when I wear my coat.
Neither rain nor weather
can freeze me over
but something still within my soul.
I am but patchwork upon
the quilt of time,
but something tears and
bares all stains beneath the covers.
O, what to do with daylight bright—
it burns the edges of my soul!
But when I gaze into your eyes
I find blazing light
and grace too hard to swallow.
"I am sick—I must die"
says Thomas, says Nashe,
but even then the stars will sing
"You make all things new"
1 comment:
Oh my! Oh my dear Persimmon!! What a dream you are! I love love love this to it's very core and bones!
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