Thorns

Waking in morning,

my head still with dreams lingering

I take steps forward

hoping I’ll find myself closer

to that place sought after.

Perfect I am not,

only by the Grace of God,

shall I ever speak

and I shall speak

when no other will raise a voice.

What does hate bring but death and destruction?

What do mocking voices reveal but a soul in need of saving?

If we speak with venom we shall find thorns and not a rose among us.

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Jason Whitaker