EYES AND HEART FIXED FIRM

Eyes and heart fixed firm,

on the future's bright horizon,

I stride forth with faith,

in God's divine grace,

burdened not beyond my strength.

I walk these cracked sidewalks,

past the broken bottles,

the half-smoked cigarettes,

the lost souls hunched over bar stools,

searching for something more.

Faith is a strange thing,

like an old coat you find in the back of your closet,

just when you need it most,

it wraps around you,

keeps out the cold.

I keep moving,

one step at a time,

trusting in something bigger,

something unseen,

knowing that the weight I carry,

won't break me.

I walk the streets, a man among ruins,

where dreams fall like autumn leaves,

and the wind whispers secrets,

to those who dare to listen.

I see the faces of the broken,

the weary, the hopeless,

and I wonder if they too

know of that coat, that grace.

The streetlights flicker,

casting long shadows on the walls,

where men drown their sorrows,

in cheap whiskey and broken promises.

I sit among them, a silent witness,

to their stories, their pain,

and I lift my glass in silent prayer.

And in the quiet moments,

when the night is still,

and the city sleeps,

I feel it,

that divine grace,

lifting me,

pushing me forward,

reminding me,

I'm not alone.

There’s a kind of beauty in the despair,

in the way the moonlight hits the alleyways,

and the stray dogs howl at the stars.

I find solace in the solitude,

in the understanding that even in darkness,

there’s a glimmer of light,

a spark of hope.

I walk the path laid before me,

with faith as my guide,

knowing that each step

brings me closer,

to the horizon I seek,

to the mercy I need.

Eyes and heart fixed firm,

on the future's bright horizon,

I stride forth with faith,

in God's divine grace,

burdened not beyond my strength.

The city may be broken,

its people lost and wandering,

but I walk among them with purpose,

with a heart that believes,

that in every crack, every shadow,

there lies a promise,

of something more,

something holy,

something real.

And in those moments of clarity,

when the dawn breaks,

and the first light of day,

touches the world,

I know that grace is not just a word,

but a truth,

a promise,

that carries me through.

Richard Gordon Zyne

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