Tate Morgan > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

Are we but images made of God his work in labored progress Made from the dust and the sod our one sheer moment of happiness

Bearing for her life's burdens soothes the children of their tears Is the rock all others break upon leaves fond memories are his years

Can any man say he is not beholding to Well from which life flows?

The sky and clouds tell my purpose to the green waved broiling sea The ones I loved, whom I left behind will long to follow near after me

His teacher had diagnosed him with some attention deficit He didn't conform to her rules to be quiet and just to sit

Give me a place where I belong one I can come back to Whenever I have strayed too far away from me and you

I was a boy then nine years old the Moon seemed exciting and cool As each of the rockets took off we would get to watch them in school

Many's the place I called home but none were quite the truth Realities found within the mind of each and every youth

I wish my friends to know of me that I see them as a treasure The pains of our lives that we share are the jewels by which I measure

The wind from our lives blows by us marking as time runs out it cries Filling life's sails with tattle tales while the dream of our childhood dies ..