Ink and Incense

I like you,

But how do I say that?

I...

Like...

A rewrite of one of my older poems.

Four, four, four, four,

We were four...

What you did,

A wretched knife,

A knife in a brother's back,

From what I thought a "Saint".

We were four,

A loss,

My triumph.

For I know,

It's like that isn't it, life,

riding highs, to be sobered up eventually,

and those, like the deserts we walk

deserts we trail,

and that, that is this reality,

but at the end of the desert I see,

I see a fount, a fount so refreshing,

A fount within reach,

But that fount sits at the end,

At the end of my journey,

To forget my troubles,

Even for a second,

That, a blessing,

But it's for a second,

Philippians 3:7 NRSV-CI

The fool,

Though ridiculed,

Has a gift,

The devil does not say,

"In God there is no happiness"

But he says,