The Little Things
Little flame.
The cliché mask of hope.
Don’t you know
You’re clinging to the wick
For dear life?
The tides sweep up around you
And the monsoon winds blow.
And the daytime breath is fatal,
Don’t you know.
Little leaf.
The minor mind of millions.
Don’t you see
The twig that’s held you firmly
Is about to break?
The autumn breeze is loving,
But its threats could kill your tree.
And the winter winds are deadly,
Don’t you see.
Little smile.
The hidden breath of grace.
Don’t you mind
That the lips that bear your life
Speak of death?
You’re a gift that’s rescued souls;
What a shame, that you are blind.
For you cannot save yourself.
Don’t you mind?