On the quiet street upon which I tread and am overcome by the sun's heat, under which many men have maintained a life's suffering despite having great skills, and are browbeaten, yet only accrue, where are you?

I browse at the human borders where many good Christian people might get through though often when I am called I am convinced it is a lost town that will never flower now.

Blind, we march forward too stately, too hot, too proud, too long hand in hand, paralytics who could buy books we want and still be gay--oh let me stay!


The transformation, while it may not make me rich still makes my partially right with words of wisdom I still crave--though at times I am charged too much; but witness then how great are the stores of Providence built up into a palace where many find rest in the hour of victory.

Want to comment on this Blogs? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Blogs and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...