All Man-Made Roads Lead to a Dead End

Silence speaks to me
in my artificial wanderings.

Go out

But when I do I roll in the grass,
its warm prick inviting,
the stiff soil and clouds respond
and keep the sun in check.

Nature produces a hope
of its own, but in its wake,
my conscience, does not want
to be alone.

“God, hear my cry, pull me
from temptation;
let my ambitious wishes fly
and set me upon Your course.

“Steer my faith for what I cannot see;
set me on a road, a road meant for me.”


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