the ugly writers

A God that is yours

I raise my head, now crying out for this airy Heaven.

Slender beams of light enter
this darkened room as I kneel,
always lost, always alone,
frozen here,
waiting.

Angelic forms wrought in panes of glass loom as
dust dances in the air,
forming an image in my mind,
penetrating my darkened eyes.

Tears on my face.

I raise my head, now crying out for
this airy Heaven.

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Jack Herer
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