(God’s Sonnet by Timothy J. Verret; it’s how I cope. God has always been forthcoming with me about “balancing His Scales,” which I took to mean, “give ’em hope, Timothy, but don’t let ’em get ‘too comfy.'”

You’re pumped for a speedy delivery.

You opened deep veins to have it your way.

You’re one who takes and makes all shivery.

You wish you were a rescuer, not prey.

These hours, I can be found directionless.

Right, left, down, up, forward, backward; ADRIFT.

I got one heart, one soul, affectionless.

I’m the one of 4 who SCREAMS in makeshift.

“But he who endures to the end is saved.”

Matthew Twenty-4: Thirteen – “Run that Race!”

Don’t crawl or dawdle like red ghosts depraved.

Stand up, dear trees! Your branches? Just in case.

So, this speedy delivery won’t come

until you bleed a little, bear humdrum.