Running my fingers

through the corn of my mind,

seeds sown over many years

mixed with the weeds of insecurity,

these golden fields swaying in the breeze

like ghosts of lost souls underground

awaiting final call and judgement,

may the petals of heaven’s flowers

forever be my rain,

as I slowly march from another time

into battle once again,

fighting thine enemies within,

this poor man’s soul, wounded mind

standing strong in hope,

faltering faith made firm by Gods eternal love

M C Bolton