I bow my head in church every Sunday
to give thanks to God, yet I never speak.
They tell me the best thing to do is pray
when I am feeling so crippled and weak.
So I come up with the words in my head,
to anyone else I dare not whisper.
I am grateful most to those who are dead,
the harbingers who care for my sister.
It is them who know the greatest answer,
to a question of which I can't be sure.
It's they who hold the ultimate power,
for they have seen the truth that I ignore.
So be it for me to hold fast my tongue,
and pray even harder we'll soon be one.
YOU ARE READING
Thresheld
PoetryMy life is a series of thresholds that I overcome through poetry. Love, loss, pain, regret, humor, irony, word play, and even sarcasm are as much apart of my life as they are central to my poems here. I am Thresheld. UPDATE: It's been quite a few ye...
