By Marshall Hann
Submitted by blessed23
Date: 2005 Nov 04
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The Sunday I Await

I close my eyes
and know
that somewhere,
someone is waiting for me
subconsciously saving me,
giving me strength
presenting hope as a gift
to this soul
that is tired of searching,
tired of its heart
desperately reaching out for warmth
(when I awake
something that cannot be named
consumes me
covering my mind with sorrow:
drowning my will)

Another angel descends
and passes me by
(I have so much to give,
so much more
than these unappreciative liars,
these men
made from plastic and paper machee)

Now I rest
dreaming quietly
as the piano plays
(It needs no reason to mourn)