Member-only story
You travel a road
potholed with joys and sorrows.
Carry crosses daily,
an invitation
to a thousand deaths
ten thousand heartbreaks.
That which you love most
pierces your soul.
Glory is a weather-beaten lorry
lumbering over holes
struggling up hills
an underpowered engine
a load too heavy.
One day,
maybe, weeks, months, or years
on the far side of hope,
glory arrives.
I pray you see it
with your own eyes.
for Jennifer and Scott
