…the messenger

…there’s this poem

that begged to be written tonight; at 1:28am, when silence conversates with you, as the entire house sleeps-

and racing thoughts become the chaos that makes sense, when the sun hides and the moon is found-

that poem of scattered words, that somehow form into one; that you can’t make logic of,yet in the strangest of ways is still understood- so the pen writes, and you follow.

that poem that feels the suffering of the world, as it becomes a creation of relevance-the one that cries with us all, yet somehow embraces us ever so gently- begging us to find even one grace of beauty to cling to-

the poem that asks us to still the wars within, and wonders if we’ve paused to feel the breeze today- or if we’ve ever tried closing our eyes as it greets the soul, simply to feel the presence of you, and say hello. our father, our God.

our alpha and the omega that knows the diseases we battle- the immaculate hides we create- as we are covered in the grace of your love and forgiveness- reminded in the beauty of a poem.

as it celebrates our continuance- and bleeds black ink for our lives to remain- and bleeds black ink for us to release the rage that wrongfully calls- that was never built for us to become-

yet the poem that bled black ink to say you are loved, in the form of uncounted letters, if your soul needs reminding-

the poem that led me, and not I it- that called upon me, until I sat down to write- and the one I respectfully abided to.

the one that understands that life shifts east when it should not- and travels to the chill of north, when you’ve packed for the warmth of south- delivering the unfairest and least understood of circumstance and outcomes- leaving unanswered questions and unhealed wounds-

but the poem that also begs us to know that God is, when fear and doubt says he is not; and lies the lie of all lies-

it is the poem that suffices as a lullaby, written to the sound of anchor by novo amor; of cradling arms with no restriction of age, and an embrace wide enough for the entire world, soon to be translated to every known language, for every known soul- to heal the ones who have forgotten the peace that forgiveness holds- and to assure the ones who feel lost, that they were never forgotten-

there’s this poem that begged to be written tonight at 1:28am, when silence conversated with me, as the entire house slept.

thus has been done-

thus has been done.

-amen

kb