The bathroom sink cries
As my cellmate washes up.
The day begins like dreaming
some nights are black
I blink awake trying to shed some
In the small room of my life,.
A door complains and screeches
As the cell opens.
I can’t put it off any longer
I must rise and clean.
The sun drives light into the dusty air.
It’s time to leave,
The sky has pulled itself together.
It is time… for chow.
See, they return
with an awkward trot, from the hill.
No, not horses;
no curved moon in their brows,
even though stars roll under their feet,
like they rolled for their ancestor, the sun.
Higher! Faster! Hold it!
Murmurs of snow frightened off by the hounds,
the splintering twigs of air.
They’re here! The Wolves!
They who terrify the moon!
And now they’re pursued by darkness
and my voice, yet thin and hoarse.
The darkness hides itself
in its tender unwoven arms,
transforming into a new kind darkness.
Reject stone, I used to roll alone
Through his creation, his love is shown,
His love’s for sure, planted in living water
scriptures feed my spirit as I grow,
on hills I stand, through his love I glow
Illuminating paths for those lost below,
Peace and forgiveness were expensive,
I was once a foe
Drowning in sin, covered from head to toe
Blood ripped not sweat,
If it’s your will, I’ll go
All poems by
Thomas J Combs #280904