The Echoes of History
Forces flocking
From dawn to dusk
The sun will rise, painting the skies
like rust.
And I rest, residing inside
this trust
I place within the world
around us.
Surrounded with lust, laughter, lies, and love,
The last melody fell on me with a hush.
As the sea fell silent, waves broken mid-rush
Painting the streams, using the trees as my brush
I patched up the holes in the globe with a touch.
A suture to hold broken faiths in place
mending the mendicant, a dance, a quick taste
of a miracle, of ancient music erased
from the memories of ages gone by, left in waste.
Where Atlantis grew sour there's now towers of graves;
their mighty achievements once powered by slaves
And the hours of lives chiseled out of grace
Like the records of wisdom, undone and misplaced.
But the echoes of prisons rattle 'round in my mind
Are we not defined
by the pictures we paint?
Watching our lives in rewind, let's see what we find.
Perhaps there's some proof of God's great design
in this wee world of mine.
Heaving a sigh,
behind closed eyes I was blind
I could not see
that my freedom
was always tied to the divine.
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