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By Joe Bisicchia You and I have labored the way, the one Sinatra sings. Tried to force our way straight. Despite all the inevitable swerves. Never works. You and I eventually meet every day, intertwine, crash, or pass on by. We have somehow rutted the orbit over and over again. Have never arrived at the choice-point, or so we thought. Perhaps we suffer too much hate. Of ourselves. Of this place. Too much road rage. Perhaps we suffer too much self-admiration to notice beyond the rearview mirror how bread breaks in every face as wondrously this-- the precious presence of the Gift. To see Who God is. An Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for Mystical Poetry, Joe Bisicchia has written four published collections of poetry. He also has written over 250 individual works that have been published in over 100 publications. To see more of his work, visit www.JoeBisicchia.com.
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