The lost door
It is in the exhaustion of the morning rise, muscle pain in unison with souls weeping, the wind escapes my sail.
The solitude of the star laced sky and brisk of day promise, I question why I am allowed breath.
I see so many in suffer to which I know not how to mend, find word to comfort, or provide flint for spark of return to the heavens.
The view a constant, while only those in need seem to change. Since my first step and my early departure, the wind carries the cries of those without, in prayer and pain, prepay their hopes for a seat in holy land.
So many, a sea of bodies, a wake of crest, referenced in sermon as though from times past. While just outside the house of God the ocean rages in desperation, hoping to be heard.
Still all on best behavior, in Sundays best, listen without feeling, kneel without knowing, the oceans depth in drowning. The waters flowing the basements walls while just above the ears are unhearing of the white caps below, the eyes glazed over in self preservation, while the stained glass colors paint a beautiful scene for all to behold.
The riches never intended for structure of grandeur, but for nourishment of saving the lost lamb. The words never stoned for empowerment politic or priest but the road pavers in return home.
Alas so many lost in herds to rebuke each other, without proper guidance of those knowing the house of God sits atop the walking legs within center of the eyes now leading the blind.
I must return within to find answer before the swell of sea has swallowed what remains.
