My Tenth Poem

Turning the handle
stuck; in that fixed place
scent is teasing
vision is loved
Waiting for mother
How tall she will reach
let me out now
I want to speak with Jesus
tiny glass flickers light
sunlight drenches the pillow

Atop this mountain
trickling down
pouring madly
fading faster than ever
i believe i have seen you
If only at first glance

Wind self-produced
eyes engaged in mortal danger
I though you were a friend
But the hard place was only a trick
Crimson sharp and creek like moral
Give me now tears of pride
Strip my dignity
Take away my clarity