2 am. Upstairs. Assisted living. She's over 100 and still walking. 8 hours of being a lump on her couch. Bathroom trips for both when needed.
A ticking clock. Bible on the desk. A man praying on the wall.
What does one do while sitting up all night watching an elderly woman rest peacefully?
Poetry, based on my surroundings of course.
I am a fickle being; you are the sturdy vine
I am ever unfaithful; you love the runaway bride
I say the sun is mighty, while you are in control
I claim to be a saint, while mold spawns in my soul
Life seems so full, yet I feel empty inside
That's when you reach down, and I have nothing to hide
Before a thought has been birthed in my brain,
You know it completely, you feel all my pain
Because you know what we've been through, you've felt it before
You've seen how life beats us down and makes us so sore
I love you for that, only not every day
For I may be your child, but I tend to run away
So forgive me Father, please pull me back
For I need you here when I'm under attack
For the lion is lurking, and I am the prey
Protect me Father, under your wings I will stay
But don't ever forget me, for I could possibly stray
I am not proud of this, but that's simply the way
Christians sometimes are, which isn't right
So give us your strength as we fight the good fight
I'm not the greatest poet, but hey, when the Spirit moves you, you just have to write.
Thanks for reading, God bless:)
