Child of the World

Blue puffs white through the dusty brick yellow terrace roof
Outside the rotten wooden frame of my writing room

An only sky hovers here with any consistency
Only the moonrise elevates my essential coherency

Like a hungered fool I prey here inside my place
To contemplate my graces disgrace

Knowing, where each times loss mounted to greater sin
Every day I became folded arms and broken hearts

Turning meekly into words that says, sister,
I am the barer of love I cannot control
Hearer please bare, be there, for my soul.