How are we true, if we only stick to our own visual of truth?
How is it true, if you never seek what's false?
I'm an unknown shepherd.
You never knew I'm a believer because my actions is not delivered.
I was not heard as a Saint but rather a prodigal stain
I cannot stay kind to my pal, for my patience is as short as my youth
I'm an unknown follower, I work in secrets, and buried it in my chest
I obeyed what is preached, and stay silent when my enemies voice is in pitch
I tried hard to be one, patient and holy as He is
But it's hard as a golden heart you have to obtain in a bliss
I'm unknown to people but hopeful to not be in God
Because what is that love that I never had?
If it's You who stays when things gets bad?
And what is unknown if to You I am loved?
YOU ARE READING
One Hundred Fifty
RandomFifty, Fifty, Fifty A writing challenge for myself is to create fifty poems, fifty essays, and fifty one-shot stories, every single prekeng day to make it a hundred and fifty days of honing my skills and giving sparks to my interest. Here's the deal...
