Tuesday, September 25, 2012


The sun burns golden
In stock-still trees
The mountains sit, silent,
Never to be moved
And never to be broken
The day closes
And cools under stars
Which burn, hot,
But too far away
To make a mark

Who am I
And what is my purpose?

1 comment:

  1. Proverbs 16:9
    The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.