Discombobulation

Walking down the long and narrow coridores complicated by
unthinkable breathran sees my unwillingness to understand defeat
with treturious rocky roads underneath my feet.
Told stories of heros mantle my thoughts as the realisation of my
mortality brings me back to stained reality of loniness. This passion
that I hold deep within my soul undermines ability to keep warm in the
storm. With the callised leathery skin I never look upon, I paint my blood over reflection that is scarred with painful memories.
This path lined with thysels and thorns punctures hope of an easy
destination. Where and when is always deep within my thoughts of
why and who else might be lost within the grave-yard where-in I have
been tossed.
Only one can account for my sleepless agony but pain is tryumph
so I am told. My maker will have the last word and breath of me.
Grains of salt and sand finally make haste of my resting place as I lay face down but I am lifted up and taken to my final destination. My Jesus breaks me then
molds me until I am like him. If only I would have listened in the first
place. I would have been transformed in a whim.