COME, SWEET DEATH

THIS! Each moment bathed
in blood and where oh where
is thy King?
The winds speak louder!
And dirt is stronger than steel
and when a soul screams:
“let us do something oh! Something
grander than this!”
And anger of captive souls so
deeply felt ask, “why must the
nightingale sing always,
when it is darkest before lit
skies crease my heart?”
Maybe true, maybe so — the
morning’s risen sun is God’s
own heart!

:: 07-27-2015 ::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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