Nothing finds favor.
Not even th’ cauld stones
Find rest inside th’ river bed.
Nothing finds favor
In this man’s mortal world
Where none is proven worthy.
Nothing finds favor.
Nae beasty is called upon
Tae send doon destruction.
Nothing finds favor.
Nae air remains to breathe
Inside our weary lungs.
Nothing finds favor.
In th’ eye o’ th’ storm
No supplications will be heeded.
Worms on th’ outside
Rot on th’ inside,
Nae shelter frae th’ elements.
Nothing finds favor.
Canvas torn tae shreds,
Masts in splinters.
Nothing finds favor.
Nothing save th’ whisper,
“Tis I”
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About jedwardnajera
I am an artist and a Poet. I live the life of a poet. I published several novels. Nena the Fairy and the Iron Rose, Dust of the Moon are among them, available through Amazon Books. I have spent over thirty five years in a classroom. I am now retired from that profession.
My father kept a living record of his lifetime as he lived through the Twentieth Century. He was born in 1908 and almost lived long enough to see us enter the new millennium.
He entrusted to me nearly 400 pages that he wrote through the years.
Now I am continuing the tradition by posting my own stories and misadventures.
I am trying to post a new entry or chapter each Friday. Check in on us at least once a week for the latest post.
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