My Own Best Friend
Stooping down and listless still
the rain, the pavement scarried
the men they took my food and oil
and all that I had carried
My Leaning Frame
I have no room on my leaning frame
The seed that’s planted, in the ground
I have no mind for what lays behind
I put no weight on what others find
When I’m Gone *
When all is conquered said and done
When all the races have been run
I’m hoping for a place that I call home
I hope I meet my saviour there
I hope that he will judge me fair
When I’m gone
No One Mentions Her Name *
All sorts of things thoughts tied like lengths of strings
Run through my mind.
Like winding anxiety waiting on her fate at the watch of hope I wait
From one day to next always the same
Not one mention of her name.