Shroud

"We do not live by justice, but by grace." - Thoreau

So many lies.

Coming from nowhere, like a plague of flies.

I don't even trust my reflection in the mirror anymore.

Like an elevator with no floor.

I've given up looking for justice in this fallen world.

It seems that all men and their twisted schemes betray.

Symptom of souls gone astray.

Nature was, is and always will be my truth.

The only truth.

The sun does not lie.

Nor the moon cheat.

Only rain is real.

Snow pure.

The tide won't be compromised.

The sea cannot be bartered with.

Given enough time, it can even smooth a jagged rock.

Heaven's dew covers the grass with a righteous mist.

Prelude to earth being sun-kissed.

I want to taste only truth.

With the innocence of my stolen youth.

From Eden's allowable fruit.

The point is not moot.

As sure as day follows night.

This is all that's right.

Because of my maker's might.

The breeze serenades like a lover drawing near.

Traversing the earth with its unstoppable sphere.

The hills rise up offering acceptance.

The cliffs sit in judgement.

I want God's honey.

Not the world's worthless money.

From the time I first knew I was alive.

Like a bee in a hive.

I sought my maker.

The true mover and shaker.

My redemption lives in a cloud.

Above man's damned, dead, lying, concealing ...

... shroud ...

Author's Note

"How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live." - Thoreau