No Sunday Shoes

color me with flowers

every hour

something stoic

someone strangely

perfect

I fought so hard

to be so good

you would lie

and tie my soul

to anchors in the sand

now demand your peace

chase me away

from gray days

and fake people

who point at the steeple

of hypocrisy

while Charity walks

by in the ditch across

the street

with grimy feet

without Sunday shoes

or hopeless blues

but whistles to freedom

and truth

with the warm rain

that refreshes the heart

when the stars call

at the close of day

remember

for most of His life

he had nowhere for his head

to even lay