You are the start
and the stop of me,
the base,
the end of the race,
and the top of me;
the win, place and
show, of the whole
the crown
for the clown
who doesn't
deserve You,
who couldn't
inure to all that
You are;
I dream of You
from afar,
and all of my hopes
carry a scar,
of love lost,
love sullied,
the past,
lying in gullies
of my own digging;
and all my
feverish working,
every bit of my
exercised jerking
of the rope of my
life, gives no hope,
gives no life,
to my longing:
to be in Your arms

April 14, 2010, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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