Icy-hot tears it seems,
made known in garish dreams-
Like a swirling miasma are coating my soul.
Futures alone haunt me:
By hiding my joys and usurping their role.
Hurting, I burn inside.
Parched, though I’m drowned with wine.
Hoping my pained tears are saved in God’s bowl.
Tears coursing down my face,
Hoping to win this race
Before the next batch comes like showers of rain.
All the dear lives I’ve known-
Victim to Satan’s blows:
Slowly they’re draining out as would a torn vain.
Knowing their time will come,
Thanks to our Lord – His son.
Knowing my pained tears are saved in God’s bowl.