Spiritual

Lord; you can extract the salt Out of the sea; But how lord do you decree? Too take the briny-sea out the salt. Lord; you can smudge a cloud Out of the skies;

I seldom write of death. I’m still too young; My pen has yet to spell of lives dispelled, And when I walked my way, the hand I held Was not the shadow I’ll hold down the long

via Controlling

This is a poem that I write Because the words have failed the tongue. This is a canticle of night Because my grail has spilled the sun. I was religious, though I thought