when the armor sheds
and the spirit is bare
he likes to sit on a swing
legs spread across the grass
thighs dangling between heaven and earth
he doesn’t have to plot
on how to bear the brunt of sin
when the struggle rises yet again
instead yonder down by the willow trees
the children playing hide and seek
remind him of when he was a kid
teetering between his mother’s hallowed hand
and the inevitable curse of becoming a man
words less spoken 
excellent work/play, MB. xo
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Thank you 😉
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please get yourself published! this is AMAZING
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You’re very kind friend thanks for visiting xo
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Damn, those final lines…
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Thank you friend xo
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