Where is your face?

May 30th, 2008 by J.R. Miller Leave a reply »

My wandering feet are torn by the shards of broken dreams.
Desperate prayers fly from my mouth in search of a place to rest.
Where is your face?


My hands are crippled from tilling soil where no crop will seed.
Dark shadows blind my weak eyes from the path home.
Where is your face?

My flesh is laid bare by the chill wintery wind of isolation.

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2 comments

  1. Alan Knox says:

    J.R.,

    Did you write this? Its excellent!

    -Alan

  2. J. R. Miller says:

    Yep. Like all my poetry, it is all original. I am glad you like it.

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