I'm writing left-handed, for its match
is occupied in better things.
Holding the hand of my grandma
I glaze the passing dessert,
watching desert blooms of sunset rest
lightly on her cheek.
There is a special peace about this earthy land of cactus and sea-skies of pregnant clouds.
When I am old I will revisit this place
in my mind,
and lay gently on a bed of grass,
having left my place of slumber.
God has many beauties;
there is an Eden in youth and age,
in love and grief.
An excerpt from my journal, actually written left-handed ;).
1 comment:
Wow. I can't write left handed, let alone put together such a work of art. Thanks for sharing.
Joe
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