always reaching but never reaching
sky so far, Son shine on me uncurl, unfurl
new and green, some are clipped shorn demeaned
‘make way for new’. who knew?
it would be so far and hard, elusive even?
always just beyond my grasp, i gasp, at the
Son so high and warm and bright
And warned; I would never realize that high height
light touched till clouds pass, bugs crawl on my skin
grounded, without within , rooted in dirt mud and sin
and why? i try and try, ne’ er to end ere i die
now i green and new ‘much to do ‘. too much to do.
un-contended, discontented, no friend
un-given and shriveled. Son shine on me.
i long to be a bird. feel like a tree.