Stories and Poetry

Witnessing

Can you hear the wind through the trees?

The Doves coo at the sunset.

A breeze softly on my cheek,

My soul is raw and unsettled.

The abyss of sorrow fills me,

Every cry there can be,

Every soul in need.

To see, feel so much sorrow,

The searching that will fail.

To live life of illusion,

Only those graced may prevail.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s