Did you not possess me in the beginning;
before your works of old?
Did you not cover me in my mother’s womb?
You are compassionate and merciful;
You do not cast away your people which you foreknew.
Am I not the workmanship of thine own hands?
Did you not form me in your glory?
Have you not chosen me,
by sanctifying me as I came forth from the womb? Continue reading
You are the silent sin of Sodom.
You and your polished granite stone.
You guide the strings of a marionette,
and believe you have no sins for which to atone.
I’m sitting here in this frigid cold,
looking in beyond the glass.
Where is this sword and shield,
to protect me from those who harass? Continue reading
Mornings have a unique innocence.
It’s those serene moments in the
dim grey light of the morning,
where the dew is fresh on the grass,
and the larks and mockingbirds have yet to sing.