Counting the days to Promised Land
I stand upon a lofty mound bedeviled.
My staff albeit whispered ordained
Hits hard the rock beneath my feet,
Alas, the waters do not part.
Silently over my hour of trial
A cloudless sky of genteel gait glides-
I wonder if it mocks me
Countless faces affixed my back
Beads of sweat begin to wet my beard
Their petulant despair is my task to quell,
But I am heavy with the dread of deceit
A lie that descended upon my bed
In the high of a silent night
And raked my ravenous dreams
With visions of a Promised land
Alas upon this rock I stand
Afaced by tempest water of raging voice
And I, staff in hand
Haplessly peek at the clear blue sky
With salty beads of sweat
Trickling down my graying beard.
If I lift this staff this last time
Will the raging waters part?
©Kordasis 2010
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