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13 Crickets

In a small room, I can be heard
oh yes, the scuttling of feet
oh no, my identity is discreet
and even when I shout, you can’t distinguish a word.

In a closet, I feel right at home
for Christ’s sake, the dark dominates
in Heaven’s wake, I’m cluttered and prostrate
stored next to gifts for “To”, with no idea who they’re from.

In a back yard, I frolic on the ground
as a magician, the show is more of an act
like a rabbit, the opinion becomes more of a fact
suddenly, the trick isn’t knowing where I’m going,
but what I found.


About R. Ward

A husband, father, teacher, and struggling man of God.

2 responses to “13 Crickets

  1. Cyndi ⋅

    I like this very much. It makes me feel big and small all at the same time.

    I love you.
    I love your writing.

  2. Jason ⋅

    Good Stuff brother! What is the 13 about?

    Side Note: “As I was reading your post Sigur Ros started playing” ~~ Found that kinda neat.


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