That's how it's always been --the truth-tellers diminished. For countless years they've been cast out and shunned. That's how the kings have ruled
By Elliott Robertson3 days ago in Poets
Hands numbed by frostbite. I step into cafe. Hold cup of tea. I don't drink.
Tundra bites through gloves. Friend in igloo lights a match. Close; it stings. I sigh.
Cuddling with my love after walking through ice storm. Kindling body's hearth.
My children are loving. My heart does soar. They wait for me to come home. I am late. They greet me with their hugs right at the door.
By Elliott Robertsonabout a month ago in Poets
The joy of life--this God asks me to sense. I've always cursed my life for being bleak. I've denied world of my soul's effulgence.
Oh how I long to be warmed by the sun, to know he is my brother, through and through. May I sense the sun’s presence when day’s done.
