Poetry

exhale

If I throw out these words, will you arrange them?

If I scour these flakes off my thoughts, will you x-ray them?

Am I lazy, or just tired? So tired

I want this pain psychosomaticly fired. You’re fired. 

It’s time to find

the coloured pencils again,

and I want those ones

with the erasers on the end.

Is that a thing?

It should be. 

 

But maybe, instead,

a soft, downy bed,

and catholicons that rhyme,

making perfect the climb

out from cellular breaths,

releasing those deaths

that long to be free.

 

(Good night ❤)

 

 

Standard
Christian, personal, Poetry

onominapia 137

My soul in sympathy

to those expressing grief –

I marvel at the articulation

of WordPress poets

who graciously lavish beauty

beyond horizons.

But all I can do

is exhale

the outline of a sigh,

knowing they will fill it

with words lit by transcendence

and an ancient promise,

because my own soul is heavy,

and this snow falls in

like the sighing watch of the night…

Romans 8:26

~

photo: Chase Miller

 

prayer

Aside