his daily bread is prayer
he comes in, orders a glass of cold water
sit’s at the same table
a sip moistens thin lips
eye lids close
shut out life
elbows are placed
in grooves made by cracked red skin
as slowly, thin veined leaves
touch each other
and the world stops
as another world opens of surreal serenity
where the passion is peace
he prays for a minute, an hour
until he is finished
and ready to be
reunited with the living
Poetry BLOG By Edge of Humanity Magazine
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Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
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