Your knees are skinned, face dirty.
Bare of feet and options.
Threadbare even. To the core.
Your eyes peek out from beneath
filthy, matted hair.
Searching and wanting
to be loved.
Yet your longing is greater
than the fear.
Why do you hide, tattered orphan?
The air is cold and the nights are long.
You cannot feed on scraps
Tripping along in your ragged state,
Little orphan, where will you go?
Accept the love that has come down
to find you.
To rescue you, tiny soul.
Washed and clothed with kindness,
soon you’ll understand the fullness of God.
You will know.
No longer an orphan.
- Follow THE CONSOLATION OF MIRTH on WordPress.com
Top Posts & Pages
- RT @tspoetry: .@gyoung9751 looks at Walt Whitman Award winnter Mai Der Vang's Afterland • tsptry.com/2pGeGKh #poetry #poets 6 days ago
- RT @monicasharman: For @tspoetry's #poetryprompt this week: tweetspeakpoetry.com/2017/05/15/wal… https://t.co/Gtjrshjfya 1 week ago