Sunday, March 25, 2012

The Brim.

Photograph Copyright-James Rainsford
Post written at Dverbs

The brim is never reached

The flashes of memories, like thunderstorms

attack, sermon and misguide me

weaken me, and yet I 

gulp it down with a peg of vile.

The grief is at times, too intense

So much that you can hardly breathe

and yet take in, take in
and the kiln is never too hot
the pot never too full,
Ah! what a mighty heart Oh Lord!
Ah! a witty world this is!