There is a song within him, a noise
familiar, a wakeup into day, an appetite
for good to happen.
The floor challenges his feet. Gravity
pulls at him, creating an in-between where
he operates within common boundaries.
Within the season of years, and unexplained,
the joy of morning remains in yesterday,
reviling and mocking the emptiness
washed onto his shore.
Yet…there is a watchtower he turns to.
The inner room reserved for earnestness,
guidance and the will to do right. A
place waiting for the voice of his prayers.
Roger Singer 