stitch and match, it sounds like a severe lack. my heart is wearing out, thinning, losing strength to continue this long ascent. the steps are steep and sharp. is this a slow death, that someday this heart will stop bleeding? the winter cold is slowly drawing back it's breath and the terrains are melting away flake by flake. as the pain resurfaces from these months of nocturn and the red well up like dangerous signs on the roadmap. how much can man be a machine until he drops a sudden death?
i watched as the floor general, my brother, shed blood. how choices became the fall subjected to fathers and leaders' chide. still waiting, still waiting for the penny to drop. still waiting for him to turn around. some things take a long time to change and i look on with abated patience, waiting out the rain, waiting out the storm, waiting for the prodigal to come home like a greying father on the wooden mouldy steps.
every tree in sight is lined with a yellow ribbon. round every oak tree, hope hangs waiting for redemption.
need you more than ever, God, if you are who you say you are.
No comments:
Post a Comment