Searching

Sucker punched and red faced bruises
The last truce from adolescent wars fought with paper tigers
Whose silent roar is heard only by those whose arguments fail in the face of faith
leaving vulnerable paper men.

Glass houses chipped and cracked and broken in places
Protected by walls of words scrawled on paper and not etched in stone.
They speak of matriculated riddance of ill conceived plans of trash can dreams.

We sit ragged and raw
Bound by coffee and conversation, petition and prayer
With wonder at what was
What is
And what will be.
In the twilight of spring.