Writers Work Deep

Grace divinely calls to me

Whispers silently in cathedral halls

I am Curiosity, I am Unfinished Pain

Tomorrow is no longer within my sight

I must answer today, for the crimes I commit

Would have wrung of every blood and breath

From a diseased corpse for all Life to see

I follow out of the rusted gates

The surrounding fields are covered in dew

Morning doves roost in the trees surrounding

Wildflowers care not where I step

And I am simply looking for Hope

I am Burdened, I am Broken

All my life, all I ever wanted was a second

Second chances, a second wind

My pen is heavy, my mind is a fight

I feel the weight of memory

Those not me but beside

Not my skin but of my descendants

We speak different words

We walk on unique grounds

Yet, in the midst of the greatest war

And most silent shouting match in history

Nature holds onto me

Beneath the storm of infallible fate

And the stubborn zeal of gods and men

The swinging pendulum threatening

To blot each out of existence

Somewhere in the screaming

The sarcasm, the sludge

She tells me that the Work still matters

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