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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Tuesday, 31 July 2012

Dear father,

How do I make something from nothing?
How do I know what is right and what is wrong
yet what is wrong is before me like an open door?
Taunting "truth" through my eyes and into my mind.
What does the future hold for me?
Will I walk the streets I hope to take on? 
Will I leave the mark I hope to leave? 
Will I be just another fallen leaf of nature?
How can I see it all in my mind but fail to play it out?
What is the point of a dream when living it is but a dream?
How will I prosper yet I tethered to fear?
The gift of love, you have given to me in so many ways, 
sings to me songs of encouragement and support, 
but ambiguous scripture can only do so much.
My past has gone by like a one way train, 
Yet I yearn for the past, live in present, 
while my mind strays for the future, 
a future so bright in my mind yet uncertain.
It's a whim, a myth; a retold story in my mind.   
I only hope that when you open the doors. 
You flood us with opulence in this world of seemingly hopeless dreams, 
where we now struggle to live up to the expectations set by those fore front.
We can only turn to you for guidance and I am another one of your children,
whose sins you hate but I pray you enable me to inspire the dreams of many.

Your son.

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