There Is Work To Be Done

 
Clawing at the universe


For a chance to heal this purse so weakened with great famish


Set these strong hands to purpose


My muscles fresh and aching to earn a spot on the table


God made me with a heart to build homes


How can there be no work?


When so many still rest their purple bruised heads on man made stone


So many drown alone when we are suppose to be tear drops in a basin


Desperately close with my ear to the door


When opportunity knocks


The sound should be


Deafening