Weary Feet

We were born chasing the wind

Yet the tempo was always shy from perfect

Crowned in rags, feasting on morrow’s fantasy

Borrowed

Scaled to our sweat’s rhythm

We burnt our backs chasing

While time was always insufficient.

Barricaded to pleasure

We were the host of it all

Yet none played at our platters

Feeding a few in celebration

While the rest feast on blisters

As the tempo for life,

Tapped through holes.

Wholesome from afar

We were the jewel of the moment

Yet glittering to none

Deemed fools’ gold in our awakening

As our birth, had a tale to tell

But the tail of the past

Had a goal to score.

 

Foolish Cycles

We live with the past in our head

Sticks plugged in, to miss silent whispers

Fear driving us to the wall

Just to conform to the movement of others.

Trusting the world

Yet unable to recreate it.

While calls to #HearHim sound

We chose solutions that crown us problems

Playing dumb, when reality stares in front.

Only to recall the armor of peace

When the storms already sink our hope

Taking a loan on salvation.

When we should have banked on it

Burying our debt when the cyclone seize

Only to remember it amid the cyclone eye

Where calm briefs, momentarily before hell returns.

And our minds are switched back to Him again.

While sticks get unplugged to listen

Before we quickly forget once again.