Prayer at The Cornerstone

Rabbi, Rabbi...O! Rabbi
I’ve been too busy with my own situation,
Lost in my own kind of ways,
Want to say a lot of things from my aloof past,
Let’s walk, let’s talk and let’s talk the walk.
Came here with my broken pot, It fell spectators surround
I’ve gathered and glued my pieces,
Cracks still seen with glue stain around,
Don’t let my face, anew hit any ground,
I’ve lost the worth to hold a crop.
Inscribe my pot with all thy thought
As yet orphaned but not an orphan
Lost my way to find thy way
Lest your fear, for any fear
Remove my rear view mirror
Hold my hand, a feeble hand
Through all the deserted strand
Give me troubles and a push to carry on
Forgive those wasted altar calls
In negative towards my negativity
I’ve Clenched in heart, what the cross couldn’t hold
And the tomb wouldn’t contain
This is my last verse. Amen.

*i told myself never to write again




Michel .H. Ashton

Road to River life

Counting the pebbles, standing by the moss,
Fresh water stream and the early morning gloss,
Never ending ripples; “Solace”, It said.
Then I knew, I was young and innocent,
Growing up, I ferried in this never ending stream,
Boulders did I bump; not a good feel;
Bruised my face but relished that pain,
Knew it hurts but the thrill was fun,
Love did hurt; sat down took stock and kept floating on,
Toppled in the middle spectators surround,
None to stop and none to lift,
Those shallow waters taught me a lot,
Everything out there deep seated hostility.
My begetters knew not, me ferrying out here
Still wearing smile but shattered inside
Stream sang into this river; desolate was I;
A point it reached not far from then;
If life this way, I’ll have no life;
After all this time and all this work,
I suddenly had this feeling that,
None of this is in my hand.
And if it isn’t if it isn’t, what should I do with that?
Loosing track in time, yonder I saw this old friend of mine
Saying,”thou on my mercy seat”
A union station for a wreck like me
Undocumented changes for quiet some time,
This truce with god hurts a lot,
Will endure it; with all my heart.



Michel .H. Ashton

Incomplete...

Directions in darkness, Heights of desperation,
Boulevard of dreams and bleak prospective,
An Oliver twists, all this time.

Words not from an emotional tide,
Nor hangover from smoking pod,
Trenched it all, till this time.

Heaps of thoughts, word to confess,
Lone in this shack; me and my words,
Bared it inside, until this time.

Un-forgiven me, mediocre myself,
Pat on my back not on thy forehead.
Stranger at my own gate, till this time.

Stuck in this maze, get me out of this haze,
Said this to none; dread to face that storm.
Little-known purposes to drive my time.

Hope is not a plan, yet one hope to cope it all,
Less than perfect; the perfect imperfection,
Doubt it all in a line, Am I the incomplete?

Michel .H. Ashton

My first blog

To God Be the Glory

God all i want is words


Thank you Jane Joy