“Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.” Isaiah 46:4
A temporary summer shower has widened its breadth and I'm drinking my 3rd cup of lukewarm coffee under an eternal gray sky.
My insecurities run deep and my angst of the future is near impossible to squelch.
If I wrote the thoughts that run through my head, would you question my sobriety?
How about my suspect sanity?
Or have I become that uptight reformed stoner who crosses her cold arms and closes her eyes while others spin beautiful figure eights around my still hips.
Time leaps off the ledge and I defiantly back peddle into the lost years of a lost self and the woman I crave to know.
They cry awaken the child within, She's close enough to touch and she's screaming.
But the muddy sludge is deep and slows my progress. She grows more difficult to reach. Principle reigns supreme. I wish she would laugh.
Temptation is tolerable until the whip lashes across my back too many times from resisting and the solemness grows like a cancer, weeping missed opportunities and time...well lost.
What if I wasn't the Queen of Maybe and affirmatives rolled off my lips like sweet agreeable honey? Would the gravel in my muscles melt into liquid gold? My mouth waters with the taste.
The musician's emotions bleed from the strings. There's a spirit that sings Amen.
Her tan legs lay listless which once wrapped around his ears.
Splayed open before her a path she's forgotten and a desire that says go ahead.
What if Yield was a four-letter word?
No comments:
Post a Comment