Twenty-Six. Servant Song.

In the dark of this soul, my God I pant for You.

desperation tastes like dust

frustration narrows my throat

and mental circles can’t stop asking

“Why and where?”

Offering turns to turmoil

affliction throbs in my chest

and broken reasoning won’t quit saying

“Just. give. it. up.”

Bones have been crushed

flesh  has been pierced

and incessant pressure keeps on giving

salt and acid, salt and acid.

but through the cracked earth

does the bloom still come!

beyond the cloud the light streams above

Hope is seen to float and yet is heavily anchored by love

more than the notion that everything may or may not happen for a reason or the ethereal ‘for all under  the sun there is an appointed season.’

I cling to a message that maintains  this shell could be destroyed and I’d still grow and gain

tthis discipline and chiseling away isn’t for nothing, isn’t in vain

so  call it a crutch

call it what you may

but I’m convinced of a Cross, I’m persuaded by a name

Oh,  yes I believe in caged birds that sing and bloody wings that still fly

arrow holes that may never close

but form and birth wounds which heal

and the death that leads to life.