Wet air and buried wealth
PICTURES OF GODS BEAUTY
WISHES OF THE WEAK
The air is wet from the steam of yesterday's tears of God
Like ants we bury our wealth in the ground
Longing for winters cold touch to wrap us like blankets of hope
Hope that life will some how slow down like water turning into ice.
Freezing we ache for warmth and suffer the days of wishes come true
Because we can do nothing to time but watch it flow by.
Sometimes fast...sometimes slow.
But always moving
Like organized chaos
Always wanting to die yet never pulling the trigger
Never the less, death is not the end
For HE has risen to kill death
To slay him with HIS mighty hand
And to rain down HIS tears to drench the wicked.
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