Creer

On ice, frozen solid waters

I dance, turn and spin around

Bare feet, my heels are rosey, toes white like the bones inside them

I find peace

Slow gentle breeze from salt sea

I write, penning with fingertip on saphirre

Some note, characters each quaint as pacifiers

I don’t know, grasping the field as before me

I cannot see tomorrow

Tomorrow is a feeling right now

That feeling grasped is hope

One day I hope to not pray

But speak to a lord of all plainly

Question: God.

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