Loving arms wrap
Fingers clutch
An embrace
Pressed together in the dark
Gentle touch
My memory of the place
From whence I came
Rests now in my mind’s arms
Beckoning me home
Free of fear, of doubt
Like a well-planted tree
Judgment and blame can’t bloom
Separated like chaff
Conspiracy dethroned
My memory of the place
From whence I came
Rests now in my mind’s arms
Beckoning me home
Deliverance promised
Blessings from Him
Sacrifices accepted
Dwell safely
Loving arms surround
My memory of the place
From whence I came
Rests now in my mind’s arms
Beckoning me home
Nothing compares, she said
How can that be
No regrets
Only redemption
Salvation
My memory of the place
From whence I came
Rests now in my mind’s arms
Beckoning me home
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Paul Murphy and writers in Poets and other communities.
Crazy Dan
He shuffled along the sidewalk, thin and stooped, head down and hands clasped behind his back. Every couple of steps, he stopped, staring at the ground. He inevitably kicked at something in the gravel. Sometimes, he picked up whatever it was and placed it in his pocket before examining it. Sometimes, not. Either way, he continued along unhurried and unaware of anything except what he might find next.
By Paul Murphy3 years ago in Fiction
One Minute to Noon
“OK, guys!” I screech over the macaw-like chatter in my sophomore English class. My students are sharing mementos they accumulated during summer vacation. The assignment is to interview each other and write an expository essay about another student’s treasure: Misty’s coquina shells and sand dollars from Florida, Ruth’s two Navajo pottery mugs from New Mexico, Roxy’s perfume from Paris, Kevin’s chocolate from Hershey Pennsylvania, a picador’s sword from a bullfight in San Fermin Spain, where one of my favorite students, Manny Pérez, ran with the bulls at festival.
By Lacy Loar-Gruenler6 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.