Small letters
Small letters hold sentiment in their meanings. So much as to the emotions that scream out all the answers. Yet what are they, exactly? Clarity defines itself through the fine layers that expand and explode deep within my spirit. Still, though, nothing else falls open to be viewed.
Oh so softly I nudge at the wound. A small, oddly situated one. All I do is hope for the festering boiling to cease just long enough to have reality take a lick. So comical, so dry in humor are the vibrations and echoes. How else do I not overwhelm myself with a wicked laughter, stemming all from this disappointment?
Yet who am I to bother knocking at a locked door? Even at times there is an opening, though binding questions are left building. So sadly I allow my tears to flow, falling just like the abysmal hurt throughout my core. Still, even in this worst niceness, I endure because my strength is not my own. I own the level of comfort and disparaging blows only because I am capable. Jehovah knows my limits. I cannot be breached.
Funny though how much I learn of love and kindness. The gentleness of mockery and bitterness spit at me. It is truly this reward I gain and is one of the things that hold me stationary in this turbulent experience of life. In depth it builds this unyielding hope and defense that one day my guardian will be placed before me once more.
Yet again I ask why would I knock at a locked door? Is it opportunity that supports or is it some deeply seated root that has me patiently waiting? Either way it is the sweetness of molasses that pulls at the sensitive bits of me. Strongly suggesting I hold onto my laughter as the tardy expands through out tough times.
Gingerly I sprinkle a lasting coarse salt over fading emotions. These times I cling dearly to the teachings of Jehovah once more. There I place a hope, a dream that rolls a light glaze over time. A prayer is held within.
Softly I whisper inside the cool night air. Watching as frost forms inside my breath. All I find myself saying is a simple hope in finding my home once more. A small request that is put in motion without harsh lines drawn. No more intertwined tapestry to touch. Just me standing with the last bits of the strings. Watching the air lift and toss them away. I become stronger without a hint of connections.
It is grand.
Still I hold onto the prayer still exploding in my mind. Sent through Jesus to Jehovah. All I can do is have faith that the changes will prove I am better and finally ready to be a child once more.
Slow process to come around but it is a plan in motion. And that I am grateful for.
Oh so softly I nudge at the wound. A small, oddly situated one. All I do is hope for the festering boiling to cease just long enough to have reality take a lick. So comical, so dry in humor are the vibrations and echoes. How else do I not overwhelm myself with a wicked laughter, stemming all from this disappointment?
Yet who am I to bother knocking at a locked door? Even at times there is an opening, though binding questions are left building. So sadly I allow my tears to flow, falling just like the abysmal hurt throughout my core. Still, even in this worst niceness, I endure because my strength is not my own. I own the level of comfort and disparaging blows only because I am capable. Jehovah knows my limits. I cannot be breached.
Funny though how much I learn of love and kindness. The gentleness of mockery and bitterness spit at me. It is truly this reward I gain and is one of the things that hold me stationary in this turbulent experience of life. In depth it builds this unyielding hope and defense that one day my guardian will be placed before me once more.
Yet again I ask why would I knock at a locked door? Is it opportunity that supports or is it some deeply seated root that has me patiently waiting? Either way it is the sweetness of molasses that pulls at the sensitive bits of me. Strongly suggesting I hold onto my laughter as the tardy expands through out tough times.
Gingerly I sprinkle a lasting coarse salt over fading emotions. These times I cling dearly to the teachings of Jehovah once more. There I place a hope, a dream that rolls a light glaze over time. A prayer is held within.
Softly I whisper inside the cool night air. Watching as frost forms inside my breath. All I find myself saying is a simple hope in finding my home once more. A small request that is put in motion without harsh lines drawn. No more intertwined tapestry to touch. Just me standing with the last bits of the strings. Watching the air lift and toss them away. I become stronger without a hint of connections.
It is grand.
Still I hold onto the prayer still exploding in my mind. Sent through Jesus to Jehovah. All I can do is have faith that the changes will prove I am better and finally ready to be a child once more.
Slow process to come around but it is a plan in motion. And that I am grateful for.
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