Melancholy amidst clouded canopy.

A palm lilts in slight breeze.

The sun tries to burn through mist,

rising above a placid lake.

A lone figure stands upon the pebbled shore,

an ache in his heart.

“What travail has brought me to this shore?”

To his knees he falls.

A tempest in his heart.

A strong wind careens across the calm waters

stirring; embroiling

as though the water his tears.


“What a fool and fraud I am.”

Sol burns through the mist sending a ray of light–illuminating.

“Yet grace and love caress my wounded heart.”


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