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We took the coal we
used to use
Combined them with
match and that old little fuse
Built a fire inside
mounds of brick
To cook the
three-year-old chicken we had on a stick
The workers gathered
that old used coal
Said, “With this,
what am I to do at all”
Placed them on a
garden path
To line the walkway
with black burnt ash
To remind passer
Byers of that once great fire
The cost it made to
satisfy my desire
What in me did He
Demand?
Nothing at all, but
my hand
Tried to write out of
thin air
When really all I
needed, a pen, a chair
I carry all
necessities in my head
But Can they be
worthy in Your stead
Wrote the things that
mattered most
Devoid of thoughts
from sun-laden coasts
I found a grape on a
vine
Picked it fresh for
some poorly made wine
When I write I think
of You
Foiled the plans I
thought I knew
Made the coffee
ground from the bean
Enriched with flavor
and addicting caffeine
Sat and left my head
to my thoughts
Reflected on life,
the illusions brought
Enriched my mind in more noble things
tied my thoughts of
life, illusions with string
I wrapped them tight
in old dirtied towels
gave them to the dog
and heard no growl
he took them to the
sewer drain
to drop them where
they could cause no pain
until a man
impoverished and weak
found those thoughts
amongst discarded antiques
Cherished them, took them, and said He thought
He could bear my life
and delusions wrought
Claimed He was the
downtrodden’s lifter
I Said, “never again,
am I a drifter!!”
Became my friend, my
king, my song
Never have I met one
so strong
Without you to carry
worries
This body would have
been long dead and buried
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