Hope to the Hurting

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When good children die, they see the Lord
in a place where the yellow taxis drive faster
and if you stay on long enough,
the beggars will learn your name.
You have a date with a thunderstorm,
gazing up at the purpling sky;
deep like a bruise blooming beneath black skin.
Outside, the night is laughing at your innocence.
Tears carve canals into your ashen cheeks—
a Grand Canyon of misery.
But here in the light of God, you are dancing,
and it is a brutal beat, a life-giving,
love-lending one;
singing how you were never whole,
and never should want to be.





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writer.on.the.loose This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
May 20, 2009 at 1:58 am
Great description! Love it!
 
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