Long has it escaped my grasping hands,
Unwilling to remain where it could not be nurtured.
Long has it had hope, for the blood among the sands,
To cease to flow, and the wounds be sutured.
A constant companion, though no friend;
Like a thief in the shadows, stabbing deep
Opportunity unmatched in its nefarious trends
Of causing the wounds and making them bleed.
Surrounded by them have I been,
Lonely have been my hours of late.
Separated from the light distantly seen,
Caught up in tendrils of confusion and hate.
A most long-suffering voice,
Battling against the screams of the heart.
Quiet and helpful has been it’s advice,
Dismissing disorder and chaotic upstarts.
That swashbuckling pirate rogue,
Aiding Peace, causing Pain, waiting in the Shadows.
Providing to Mind’s speech it’s epilogue,
When all is said and done, it’s chosen path is simple and narrow.
© Ruth P. – 2016
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