One Handle Randall

*Best read sideways on mobile devices*

I met a man with one hand in a land between two rivers.
He ran from fear just east of here to find himself a home.
Now some time had passed behind the glass before he could be shown
life abhorred the robe he wore and left him quite alone.
No knocks on the door or friends anymore to call him on the phone.
Shit was lame and full of shame with nowhere left to roam.
Then one day he sat and prayed to some heavenly chaperone.
“Please help me to see how it is I must atone!”
Then a door appeared and faithfully premiered his future keystone
Now, it wasn’t a steeple but a group of people to whom he could bemoan.
They spoke about the elution of a simple solution not publically known.
For days and weeks he placed his cheeks on a seat covered in cheap foam.
Decaf filled his veins while he removed the pains that fear and pity had sewn.


One day, I sat above the Platte contemplating the unknown.
I suddenly awoke by the words he spoke in a soothing baritone.
The shades came off his face with saving grace and willingness set in stone.
He didn’t juggle with the struggle or simply bitch and moan.
Just how he saw the process of spiritual progress that’s on permanent loan.
You see, he put Her love just above the principles he had sown
and found release to put his mind at peace from the turmoil life had thrown.
Now my mind goes weak every time he speaks about the Love we can own.
I get shivers between two rivers ‘cuz I’m reminded Her love can’t be outgrown.

© Sean Short 2018

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