A distance from the sleeping crowd, alone,
Enshrouded in the darkness of the night,
The garden gloom embraces all my own
And shadows taunt the silent, waning light.
Despairing, broken, shattered, torn apart,
I stumble to my knees with anguish'd cries.
The pain you left seeps through my bleeding heart
And silent tears fall from defeated eyes.
Beneath the weight escapes a pleading sigh
Which trembles in the Winter's growing cold.
A gentle light approaches from on high
And tender arms my battered soul enfold.
A warm voice softly whispering, "My son,"
And then, "Fear not; My will, not thine, be done."
Copyright © 2008 by Layne Cockcroft
All Rights Reserved
1 comment:
I like this one a lot.
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