I strain to hear the sounds of joy and love,
But all I hear is thunder in my head.
I hope to find a message from above,
Yet all the trust in self from me is bled.
We turn to earthly loves for reassurance,
Put trust in our possessions for our rest.
A useless salve for sinful convalescence,
Attempting to avoid our wrongs confessed.
A laugh, a gift, a word from friend or brother
Is oft the last thing left for us to cling to.
We wish for God to rend the clouds asunder
And write the course of action we must see to.
But who's to say that word or deed of kindness
Is not from God? We miss it in our blindness.
Bravo.
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