Pain, like an anvil, heavy on my heart
Stress, like a vice, clamps tight upon my head
Wondering if I heard it correctly
Or if I’ve, by my passion, been misled
I look upon the darkening sunset
Across that stoic, storied hill of lost souls
The weight of their fate lay on my shoulders
Their sin, upon my conscience, like hot coals
Tip-toeing that fine line is a hard task
Between premature eagerness and sloth
I’m the guard on this city’s watchtower
But, when is best to light that fuel-soaked cloth?
So, I stand watch and I wait for a sign
As when to light the torch and blow the horn
‘Till then I sit in anticipation
Sleepless, eager, tired… never forlorn
For, my Lord called me here for a reason
So I rejoice in this cold, hard season
((October 23rd,2006))
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem