Saturday, 12 April 2014

The Reckoning

The clouds I see grey blue and cold that come.
As life’s rude choke sweeps in and out like thieves.
"It’s not to be reckoned!" those loud mouths say.
For We are mist that fades within our fleshy perish. 
No asking why, wipe bitter tears away.

See, who is man that Light would shine at all?

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