Gold / Poem

The jeans are grass stains from a day of rolling down hills

Ripped on the fence we climbed over

To escape the terror we created in our own minds.

When we walk barefoot

Your toe catches the seashells and they break from your weight.

The moon is full

A face of smiles

You can only see with eyes half closed.

The car ride home is night time singing me to sleep

You drive and the cars around us are our friends

They belong to us and to the world.

You ask what I look forward to

And I say getting home.

I want to say something else

Something that means

I can’t see the future

But it is good

Painted in gold.

Sarah xx

By Sarah

My name is Sarah and I’m a twenty two year old who loves Jesus first and foremost, finds joy in the simple things, and appreciates a good metaphor and oxford comma.

I blog three times a week at

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