Thou sergeant causing an about-face towards deity.
Thou implanter and restorer of remembrance.
Thou sower of panic, yet
The stout heart is infertile soil.
The times thy healing has made my blind eyes whole
Are not a few.
How I hate thee.
Yet need thee more.
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2 COMMENTS - LEAVE A COMMENT
Linda
December 28, 2017 at 9:37 AM
Had to read it a few times, and pause much.For me, it sinks in slowly, but inevitably.
Thank you.
Phillip
March 15, 2018 at 9:18 AM
Deep and powerful. Love it.