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Inking Bleeding Thanks
From time immemorial, the sun
Has daily risen over and sat beneath
Its golden horizon—with the moon
Waxing and waning the reflections
Of its circadian cosmic journey—
In our own suffering terrestrial cyclic
Sojourn, we’ve come too far
For too long, to allow vain innuendoes
To cause won things to fall apart.
Indeed, our trials and tribulations
May not have lessened to where we think
They should be, but we can give thanks
That they are not where they once were;
And while our wants may not have been met,
Our fulfilled needs have not been wanting—
Thus, we are blessed to be in the service of God
By faithfully being in service to our fellow sisters
And brothers who are in greater need than we are.
Such is the blood-inked message of flowing poetic words
That stream to the mind—from the bleeding sacred heart.
