My soul feels direction-less, It cleaveth unto worldly visions. The dust from which we are made Seems to appeal to it. Quicken thou these dead bones. Me, I will breathe dust-free air. According to your will, and Thy word bring life and immortality to light.
For I am your creation, Become more, I cannot. Like my dust, I am easily moved, A bottle in your house holds my tears. In time, with a beginning and no end, The smoke that fades is my span. Yet Creator, in you I find hope, Do I not look to dust for strength. ForgetContinue reading “Statutes #83”