My words do not achieve
my mind’s intentions.

The realities they wrestle with
so often fail what I desire.


Thus beauty is denied its fulness —
and so is sorrow.


How evident this is
when little children die.


Even though unknown to me
I own a portion of the grief
that challenges belief
that God is by our side


I wonder why
some old folks take so long to die
while little children die too soon.

This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply