You speak in whispers. Silent brushes of wind
and circumstance that get my attention
and ask me to take notice.
There is so much I do not understand:
How to sing when I am choking.
How to forget.
How to remember.
How to discern the blessing within the pain.
How to heal so that I may
hold on to greatness and grandeur.
I hate it when all that has wronged me
rises up and snaps
like a leather belt, worn and practiced
injuring others, making me mean.
I
really hate that.
It's so sudden; I never see it coming.
Rather,
I pray for softness and stillness,
for the relinquishment of all that no longer matters.
I pray for goodness to linger like the scent of
jasmine
on a hot summer day.
It's enough already. It's enough
resenting people and circumstances so far away
that even scars have dulled with age.
Out there, beyond my small self,
is vastness and forgiveness and fortitude and love.
I long to fall gently into the arms of a loving world.
God, You speak in whispers.
Silent brushes of wind and
circumstance that get my attention
and ask me to take notice.
