…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
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