Father, the Adam in me chokes on the fruit that was never mine to eat. Father, Adam is eating me alive. Father, my shaking throat cannot utter the words I need to say most. Father, give me breath; give me breath and a trembling voice to offer up four words.
I believe.
I believe.
I believe.
-- Father, please, thy will be done
YOU ARE READING
Dear M.
PoetryA broken heart. A fragmented soul. One pair of earbuds. One still, small voice through it all. Take my hand and come with me as my earbuds lead the way through the dark and through the light.
