Sacred Common Things

i wake to the sound of weeping,
only to find it's me,
weeping for the world.
i wake to the feel of my hands,
reaching out for other hands...
only to find it's god,
both reaching and taking.
i wake to the smell of fear,
in skies ridden by gunfire,
in alleys reeking with despair,
in children that stink of hunger.
i wake to the taste of longing,
to love and be loved...
and arise once again,
to do sacred common things!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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