The Pearl

It is discouraging, to them, that I awake...to every hour...less, borrowed time, to right these things, were hid, to say the things one can, that, this endowment...famed, for pissing people off, may rub them, wrongly, once again. This pearl, thus, of dust, be blessed, abrasively, by sand, honed, scribe'd of pen, of polished tongue, by tides, a'many, going out and coming in; carried out by god, the killing of this perfect man, in cause of human kind; now claimed, as king, who may not blame, these many years lost, to his home coming...where future breed, such stiff necked lot, to bend their knee, fair silently, while Earth roll, in her clam; the starry stones of heaven till, the dark soil, planted, with the seed of man. Where love was not, will be...all turned around...though, not by slight of anyone. His will be done.


Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016,  Deming, New Mexico

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