Days when it’s all I can say… ‘Father God’,
Or this, ‘help us Jesus’. Or just ‘Jesus’.
Faith mustard pip bobbling in torment, paced
By a sinister breeze of unfortunate events.
Sucks the life, saps the strength – even so,
I head for the clouds. Seek out His shadow,
Rest in His glade; finding refuge within
The warmth of His ever-present wings.
_
by Christopher Eyte
This poem appears in Cross-Cascade: a poetry collection
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