I’m not a saint, not yet!

I’m sorry that I failed you
Break the jar of your thoughts
With the tears of my dirty hands

The wind that blow thy way
Carries ink of sand
At the pane of your window’s eyes

The roof beneath thy head
Stands breaking in the lean
With my hands tied to the tree

The brightly stars thou count
puff up with dark spot in your gaze
As you were left in dismay

Mortal I may be
I struggle deep within
To rear the better side of me

I’m not saint
Not yet
For I struggle with the name

MO.

Photo: http://www.catholic.org

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About Michael Ogundele

A writer, ardent reader and lover of nature. fell in love with writing five years back and I've been engraved in her arms ever since. I share my little way of writing poetry and reflections based on Catholic faith and Spirituality on this space. I hope you enjoy reading as we ride the same chariot to the leafy greens. Do follow me and together, let us jump into the ocean of my ink.
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