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.