Tuesday, January 27, 2009

to haunt or be haunted

i've always known that the wind in my hair wasn't really ever wind.
because it always looked too good on film.
or sounded too beautiful against the rim of a crystal glass.
and because it always carried the birds right over my head.

and into existence, in wind, i believe He speaks.
for night to fall.
for morning to come.
and for my heart to break.

truth is. when He speaks, the earth shutters and stars skip
blades of grass rise to glory in Him.
But i. so stupid sometimes.
so heavy in my blunders.

- an impatient heart will always break even.

in the moment that my heart is breaking, a seed (plan)ts.
blue prints.
so impatient.
so impatient.
i use my hands and i work. and work. and work towards .. towards? towards?
hush. never mind that. at least you're moving? eventually you'll fall into a dip in the road that is totally your a/s/l.....
i lift my collar so as to shield the breeze.
because it warms me up. less drag. more appealing to the flock.
"the absence of God will bring you comfort"


truth is. i'm an idiot.
my seeds are(plan)ted on rocky earth.
my heels are no good for digging because i'm too busy walkin.
and in the process of checking off names in my little black book
i've got paper cuts. and my hands hurt more than they did before.

and the air. so still. and stale. and sharp in my nose
i breathe in and try to find something fresh.
nothing.



- an impatient heart will always break even.


back to square one.


but then. i hear the crush...
and into existence, in wind, i believe He speaks.
for night to fall.
for morning to come.
and for my heart to heal.

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