Every Day Has Its Defects

Every Day Has Its Defects

(“Until the Spirit is poured out upon us from on high, and the wilderness becomes a fertile field, and the fertile field is considered as a forest.” Isaiah 32:15)

Every day has its defects,
some days more than others.
Every day has its spare hours,
some days I would rather
be anywhere than where I am.
Every day has its countdown.

Some earth is pink powder,
every seed does not ripen.
Some earth is black forest,
every seed is a hyphen
between the ache and where I am.
Every seed has its mountain.

Every dream has its bloodline,
some dreams leave you sleepless.
Every dream has its language,
some dreams leave you speechless
beneath the pain and where I am.
Every dream has its doubting.

Some trees have their arms out,
Every tree applauds and stands,
Some trees have offerings,
Every tree is lush and planned
within the desert where I am.
Every tree has its rebound.