again, not so fast;
prepared, colors fade into honest thoughts of themselves-
pastels propelled, tired clouds collecting into a sky of
something protected, or maybe even forever.
drifting dark into light-
i am traveling through daylight
and fading into a forgiven thought of myself-
shades faith and days we love;
i float along lines of reflective pieces
and welcome the will of the next season. ~
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Tagged faith, honesty, hope, love, new year, poem, poetry, reflection, season, transitions, truth
theres a sadness in the backdrop to the stars, tonight;
a wetness in the paint – something less finished than i’d like.
the stars, at least, are still stars –
oiled light for midnight, and they burn
and almost seem to blur in a hope- –
God if i could have the strength to cope and know
that tomorrow will come, anyhow. ~
could have been something you thought of,
could be deja-vu.
finally, it took so fast
getting it all out of you. ~
a blink of an eye; the water bleeds and the light,
dry as a bone,
ragged and wrung
appears clean, serene, and alive.~
ironing out the inevitable,
the heaviness of metals, like led,
(i can still hear)
sleek chilled water
washes over black coal in the night;
it ebbs, and lets
in the light.
improving the aperture,
the dilution of ink as it bled.
(can’t be far now; so i try my joints:)
i can still feel.~
hands against the surfaces of stone:
the dryness seems fit for the polish of the grip,
as i carry my weight up over the cliff and peer down at the height of my climb.
at some point this must align
with an idea God had in His mind.
this must be what its like to come into ones own;
having full faith that the drift, the down, angled calves, the slide of mud, the catch of my step as i bare down down down …
will not be nearly as trecherous as the lift, the push on angled calves, the slide of mud, the catch of step as i push my weight up over the cliff and peer out at the site of my dreams.
reaching into the depth of fear in my knees, the water up to my hips, i drift with the clutch of a stick;
the dryness in my feet seems fit for the polish of the grip of stone, i chance across a fast-moving water, against the current of time and i think to myself:
at some point this must align with an idea God had in His mind.~
honor for the elder;
honor lost to law and lines on contracts
an attic scent like damp wood and dusty boxes of pictures; things to help her remember who she is.
despite her demeanor (she claws at the strangers),
she is adorable. and scared.
left here unprepared,
she waits by the door;
waiting to be honored or be spared.~