My ear laughs at the sound
of chaos
Because this heart
sits, restful,
Before the colourful themes
of the Kings nurture and preservation
satisfying my curiosity,
my longings
Don't grow into death:
align with eternal honeyed
fountains
When I was a child,
I sat on my steel shoulders
and drunk also from the
cup of unprofitable wells
Weariness, this dependence
on my fragile self was a
thorn in my soul, a
doctrine of the mundane
Emptiness, this dependence
on others;
O’ an endless drought
within men
My eyes wonder;
the speed of humanism
at the expense of God
Don't grow into death.
Wake up from your
tiring eyes,
O’ man
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Published by McDaniels A. Gyamfi
The soul is a tender bird. The heart is a brute lion. My home is Christ, My purpose is to redefine the soul of the nations. My language is love. On pilgrim paths, spilling oceans grace on dry places, until hidden seeds germinate, honoring the Ancient One — most&more.
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