If it is darkest before the dawn
then let the rooster crow
I cannot continue to struggle
against bonds I cannot see
Images of love are lost
nothing feels real
So pathetic in my suffering
the tears that can't be shed
Sowing what we reap
fearing what we dread
I'm blind to my part in this
and crippled by feet of clay
Frozen in my tracks
in this my darkest hour
While waiting for the rooster
I've forgotten how to pray
Pattra Burnetto Monroe January 2000
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