Feeling the somber imprint of you,
O desolate he,
I seek for your kindling waters
to give me light…
As the banks of your ever thirsty shores
silence the waves that come to
mend the sandy dunes of
your secret miseries…
Yet, I am no wave.
I, am the root, planted
as the oak
that stretches beyond—
stretches through
the silence
to waters
in foams of deep;
deep in the belly of
your shallow grave.
With His water
that saves...
with His water
that bathes,
soaks; cleanses
your somber sands—,
I am woman
to help you, man,
feel near
again
to the presence
of love.
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About the Creator
Leah James
A creative and inspirational Midwest writer.
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