The accolade reassures
I grapple on, steadfast,
Draining, the heat in my temple
Burns a thousand strokes of fire.
Do not weep for the gone child.
Save the tears of sorrow
Lest in vain we strain our eyes,
We ought to know the fate of the child
You demon from hell,
spiteful in the wiles you have come,
you reek of scum and
ooze of your cankered bread.
Biography coming soon! Thanks a lot for stoping by to read my poems. I appreciate your precious time. Thanks E. Wall)
The Peace Of God
Do not give me
That makes peace,
By men with will
Create and mar the fruit
Of their hands.
But lead me in the peace of God
That transcends knowing,
None can grasp,
Lest he may quell it.