Straws
by Patricia Prewitt
August 2 4, 2010
My legal-eagle angel pitchs Hope
but I pullback, hesitate to reach out;
aged tissue-paper skin bleeds easily
and sharp jagged pieces of broken Hope
have dug deep ugly scars on those who believed.
In my youth I eagerly clutched at straws
which broke my camel;s overburdened back;
I would walk a mile for a camel but
resurrection, is a dicey desire.
Wounded with doubt, armed with desperation,
I slip on a mitt of mitigation
and catch flying shards of hope flung my way,
because this just might be our miracle.
No comments:
Post a Comment