Poem 49
Keep It In The Yard
Forget the links.
I’m in the yard.
Starting Low
To draw in the precious
Life blood of love
Our failures are legion
Our masks are myriad
Our delusions are enduring
We buy and sell
We trade desperately
With the gold of fools
Called romance
In such desperation
Some look to God
Few seem to find Him
Many who claim to
Don’t look so lovable
Nor give love so well
What the hell?
How do we find God
It is a bad question
A better question is
How does He find us
Or why?
Or when?