by: Randy E. Chambers
Early morning silence embraces,
his footsteps softly traverse the hall.
Bluish tinted walls lay left and right,
a wake within the peripheral of night.
The couch waits in the darkness like a friend.
And meets him as he bends his knees beside,
He lays, head on arm, across the cushion,
as though within the stillness he would hide.
His heart beats into his eyes
and forces tears to fall to arm and couch.
Bemoaning what has driven man from God,
He pleads for Light,
and for the coming of the Morning Son.