James Wilson Poetry

At times I rhyme Well, mostly by design The words out-cast like a firehose blast Dousing to back-lit fire being kindled in my soul But at times they drip slow and diberate like honey falls instinctively from its hive Drop after drop dropping to stay alive Forming into pulsating puddles…

He was stripped of his clothing Beaten, bloody, and bruised All the while His magnificence withholding He endured the thorns that pierced so deep That left Him wide open for the scolding Of all those that He helped and healed And revealed the the real when off their eyes the…

It just occurred to me that I’ve been walking “funny” all day and I began to wonder why. That’s when I remembered the rock in my shoe from this morning. I noticed it this morning but I didn’t want to take the time it would take to kneel down, untie…

We are who we are until we realize who we are. Then you have a choice....