• J Alan R

Breath


I write poems from God.

He gives them to me.

I write them down,

and then pass them around.

I write a lot of them,

more than most can read.

Many confess

they can’t keep up.

I’m sure.

Think about it from my end.

Everyday.

Often more than once a day.

They just keep coming.

And coming.

But I can’t complain.

Why would I?

They’re gifts from God.

I won’t stop

‘til His last breath

courses through my

heart.


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