Shock in Awe

Shock in Awe

Shock in Awe

Shock in Awe

 

He spoke to me of grace

And said it was ‘second-hand’

 

I found that hard to understand

When the words came so easily

 

The air he used he said was spent

Just turned and turned around

 

A soft breeze

That could threaten storms

 

And there I was, as if

In the presence of a prophet

 

Spell-bound in admiration

For a weaver of thoughts

 

But he just smiled and said,

‘ It’s a wonderful thing’

 

And left me flailing

In an alphabet. Like a dope.

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