The Focus

Hurled towards a flaky black horse,
bleached to be pearly white,
limbs try annex the strewn out twines
jubilantly quivering in and ‘round
the froth steaming, blustering,
from the nostrils of the carrier; the focus;
the inward; the Godward.

As hooves drum on the consummate rock of ages,
intimate eyes declare a portrait in lumber;
‘cause the ability to grip and dwell
is entrusted to an individual,
whom has been timelessly lifeless,
only by charity again blooming.

Hence, while this soul keeps saddle;
let these crusty lips proclaim to Him;
praise unrelenting.