There is a curiosity of

conscience

in the unhealed wounds

of our sorrows;

a symbol of memory,

engendered by our love,

where remorse nor validation

dwells –

we seek a higher ground,

fulfilling promises made

to ourselves,

holding life enhanced

by the blessing of time – like the

way gold clouds of the desert

converge in a confluence

of gratitude and guilt,

the thought of squandering a life,

lays entirely at the hands of your Self –

And so I walk with the gait of

rhythm and grace in a carriage

of knowing: that it is your blood I

carry in my veins

 

 

© K. James Ribble