It would seem
I have this all planned out
From the second I dream
To the first word I spell out
It does feel
Like I’ve got to wait out
This new Ill
Yes, wait the storm out
My trophies are made memories
Invisibly blinding, motivating
Saying
‘If he did it before,
Then this isn’t a chore.’
But I look into this storm’s eye
And my calm flicks and blurs
I know I won’t die
If I do I was yours
But will history pry
Into this my distraught
Or will sneers arise
Just because I got caught
Cut
Don’t let me fall
From my heavenly places
Let me now stand tall
In the face of these faces
And when it is time
There’ll be applauding voices
And the Angels will chime
As I join them in praises
Praises and paces
The only spaces between our graces
It would seem
My plans need your sanction
And in time we will dim
This gale a small intermission.
Reblogged this on christ a poet.
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