If there were no talking

I imagine your lips pursed

My ears would rather hear

I gulp the liquid

The eavesdropping heart addressing the curve

I swallow your pride.

Are you struggling
today
yesterday disturbed the peace?

Why praise the evergreens
the shadow of the lost?
Why should my thoughts
wander misunderstood?

Are you stalking
tomorrow
wounds the fence misplaced?

She preserved her paper soul
minced words and the dead rose
a serenade of melodies
the swift feet of time
baptized in formalities.

I thought I had lost
faith and hope
the joy, dry and brittle
a small sip of quenching
and belief in what I saw restored.

 

The Power of Grace

I don’t think i am one to have a loss of words but i experienced something incredible this morning. How do I explain the strange that happened?

When i logged into my Facebook account, I felt power course through my body. My thoughts loosened, years of silence were broken and I spoke up about ill-treatment from my mother growing up. Relatives have not replied. No one liked my multiple posts that followed, either. But i am at peace.

So, now what? What happens next?

I know many of my blog followers do not believe in God. Not now and probably never will. But there has always been a flickering light deep inside of me, raring to light up my world. The light was starved and needed oxygen. I have gasped and let in what i was avoiding. Life!

I confess, “No more holding my breath.”

I wonder if my poetry and thoughts change from this day forward? Have i been released from generational bondage?

I suspect I might lose followers. You?

Time will tell how permanent this change remains. How strong I remain in this universe; A world of mystery shrouded in history.

Questions remain. Who was that man who gave away hope and preached truth? Who hungered in the wilderness for 40 days and hung on a crucifix for three moons.

As Mary has proclaimed Him risen! I proclaim His resurrection lives within me. 💗J

She doesn’t miss driving miles

He, pushing into her thighs

She misses the redbud blossoms.

A painter’s brush

Hesitates and unashamedly creates

Her world of mixed hues.

All this

Uncertainty

Surrounds me,

Left in the middle

Of nothing

And everything drowns.

The packed boxes

Clearly labeled

Stacked, year upon years -borrowed

Time drifts breathlessly

Forward.