II-II In a Basement With Bertha Mason
Our minds are open books to read, the Lord twists time with divine heed.
My pen has inked no joyful tune, merely shades of sorrow, under a waning moon.
Yet prayers ascend for our shared fate, while my own hours dissipate in the wait.
Gratitude swells for the breath, the fight, for moments shared in your sacred light.
Ghosts may haunt, searing thoughts within, scars may mark the battles we’re yet to win.
But life, it stretches beyond my silent pleas, vaster than visions the praying eye sees.
Each day it bears us on a tide so vast, in this grand design, I find peace at last.
My pen has inked no joyful tune, merely shades of sorrow, under a waning moon.
Yet prayers ascend for our shared fate, while my own hours dissipate in the wait.
Gratitude swells for the breath, the fight, for moments shared in your sacred light.
Ghosts may haunt, searing thoughts within, scars may mark the battles we’re yet to win.
But life, it stretches beyond my silent pleas, vaster than visions the praying eye sees.
Each day it bears us on a tide so vast, in this grand design, I find peace at last.
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