He knows me
Are we not alive?
Are we not alive?
Air in, out of lungs
Hands touching, eyes seeing
Our bleating hearts bleating?
Functioning with strings attached
To bodies cut with sharpened scissors
Ungrateful
I am sometimes un-thinking
Not reasoning well
But he goes about holding his world in his palm
As he watches
Am i not willful?
Is he not faithful?
Sometimes i cry
Deep inside
But he knows me
In the hot sun
In the cold pouring rain
He knows me
This will be included in my new collection of poems. Thank you to Konai Helu Thaman , one of the well-known Pacific poets,for taking the time to edit this.
Copyright ©2013 Juliet Enid Westerlund
Copyright ©2013 Juliet Enid Westerlund
