From an empty room into
a den of thieves
God waits for me
to turn the tide
but stubborn waters
and stubborn tongues
are unyielding
so instead I wait for signs
so instead I draw halos in the sand
with promises to change
to turn these circles into squares
shape this clay into a fist
make the rain dance on the surface
in the shadow of His benevolence
in the blanket of His grace
where virtue is a starfish
and moons are riddled with desire
laced with promises to change
but oceans never change
and the shapes remain the same
so instead I hold seashells to my ear
so instead I listen to this symphony of sound
and yield to the pursuit
of superior

Your Two Piasters: