It's thunder and lightning in limbo,
but
we go out dancing in sackcloth and
ashes
the rain dashes off the chimney tops
and
as fast as it comes it stops.

Sometimes in limbo the sun shows
its face
the clock face always shows twelve.

As I kneel to feel the force
a force awakens inside of me,
something akin to poetry
where the lines we write
make eyes at me.

The parable becomes the rhyme
in time
I shall
become that too.

Who knows
where life would take us?
we are the seed that grows
some wild
some not so
we grow
anyway.

Sunday is a habit
I wear like a nun
some accept
others do not
I've got
nothing to worry about

prayers are prayed
the execution is stayed
life will take us where
it will

it would still
be adventure
for me.

... And the girl I let go?
She Looked exactly like
the love of my life;
but I must love my life more

rags of cloud top the wind
a dirt of wind turns your face,
arranged,
a pace of cloud dirts your face
the top of wind rags your pace;
the lines, now, for you

your face a pace of rain
the wind a race of dirt