Photo’s of a small boy who sat
Crouched, left without a sturdy stool.
He’s rain-soaked and sick and food starved,
His body’s wasted, flesh-clung bones;
Soon thereafter dies, I believe,
Prays now for me, a man, mood drooped
Low, having dropped the Sturdy Stool.
Once full of pleasures, now pressures
Deprive life: food full but soul starved,
Left alone and wasting away.
Gary Edward Geraci
Reality, for many, is not a continuous symphony of blooming scented flower pedals and flapping feathered dove flight. Are we not called into the peripheries, no the bowels of suffering and unbelief? What does it look like, how does it feel to be starved for God?
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