Purpose Missing (Return to the Garden)

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Why do these days linger, Lord?
When time stands still-
opens old wounds
tears spill
One drop on the table,
now two
I sit alone,
with my tears for company
sniffing back 
dripping nose
and I wipe my nose
but let the tears fall
wondering the meaningless of it all
when purpose becomes 
useless
dead
stolen
What of it?
Would you peel back the day of my birth 
and reveal to me my purpose ?
 Job days grow old, Lord
and I long to walk 
through 
open fields
Chasing a few butterflies myself.
My purpose stillborn?
Am I better off dead?
Has it been aborted,
cast away with the dreams 
of faceless masses?
What of it?
What of the good things?
The promises?
I’m left like 
salty, dime-sized
water drops on the table
still,
useless,
waiting
 to be wiped away
gone,
as if never appearing at all.
Bring alive in my memory
days of romping through long grass
fearless-
confident of your love
wild, free, cage-less
sky smiling overhead
all was good
unspoiled
unsoiled
mossy carpets,
beneath my feet and
 pine needle paths

Holy ground found
in secret places I roamed
alone 
in the garden
home sweet home. 
Linking with dVerse for Open Link Night
and EMILY for Imperfect Prose on Thursday!

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