Three Presents Pulled from a Mixed Bag

Salvation sometimes is
A mixture of blessings.
When holding a seed to the light
I find myself counting into the future,
One, two, three, perception expands
Behold a tree, drinking deep in desert sands.



That man is born into sins
And borne out to the self
Is a question beyond answer.
He pools himself
In shattered shadows
And rolls the ground
Beneath his tread.
Till yesterday is smooth and narrow
And tomorrow is a rocky bed.