Scars of the World
Snow, last night, doesn't quite cover the scars of the world. The dusting softens the hardness of reality, for a moment, brief. We walk on our journeys, hoping the direction is pure, but the world bleeds through the thin layer of promises made in this life. January is always waiting for spring, just as February will agonize for color and warmth, death and life. I pray that the path beneath my stride is the chosen one, despite my constant rebellion. I have been lost and found, cold and warm. I am the stranger walking on a seldom traveled road, in the evening's light snow. A lacy veil barely covering the scars of the world. copyright 2018 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author