It was a haggard time…
I can still feel it now.
The less I give it definition.
The less it felt sublime.
The more and more,
I relinquished to being refined.
Consequently what an auspicious day!
Unusual to ease further into a rare moment,
in the North…
where the dim winter’s sun washes away all sin.
A kind morning whereas…
the Methodist down on School street seemed giddy and right.
Where the refurbished steeple held promise and light.
I had grown too akin with the blackout ways.
Even the surface of things about my feet…
Assembled like untied shoe strings.
My small wooden world so far from heaven.
a reckoning of being stoned.
An agreement to the elements given.
Maybe these elderly boots are far too broken in.
Way beyond repair to run.
a constant state of ‘live free or die.’
Shiny steeple days a fundamental reason why.