Tuesday, August 11, 2015

famine & feast

Is it always famine or feast with you,
fickle faithful Father?
when I was flooded floundering with words
and not one to write,
only burning bitter question marks
in my mouth and mind—
that was famine time.

When I was set spinning
sent searching certainties
suddenly lost I had words then
overflowing abundant
confusion loss and fear in feast.

now again I am empty
and quiet
seen but not heard some days

a fickle child learning love

of unfathomable Father.


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