So hard to write during moments like these.
Where you sit at your dinner table,
Gently poking away at some roasted chicken,
White rice and a small container of half-eaten red beans.
A cup full of Pepsi that’s been sitting in the fridge for a while,
Lost of its crisp travel down through your brittle esophagus marred by plethoras of joints throughout your life.
Slightly peeping at the pile of envelops carrying inside your life’s debt.
Just to notice how alone you are in a world full of,
Billions of people,
Unable to remember your last meal with anyone close to your heart.
So tired of speaking and hearing your own voice…
When looking at a stove topped with dedication and hard work.
Topped with hours of working throughout a week of scorching pain and virtually endless agony,
A !eureka! moment consumes every fiber in your Being formerly attacked by your inner flows of sorrow.
How your stove is rife with leftovers along with a past where you had only been able to wish for a bite of food for the night.
A story of triumph tattooed on the sides of your oven in form of residue,
Signaling a well-done meal seasoned with Love and Grace pumping out from the core of a Heart now singing the tunes of Patience and Faith…