Not Once A Year, Every Day

Messiah.

I think about this name.

Given to You, my Father,

My Friend, Healer.

I’m a mess today, no,

everyday I’ve been on this Earth.

I’m trying to breathe, but my breath

leaves my heart with ache.

An ache of deplorable worry.

This is not working out.

Time is running away, away

my mind spinning lying webs

all with one thread line:

You will be stuck here forever

and three days.

Three days.

The same number You stayed

beneath, Your body compositing,

decomposing the ground I can easily

let steal my peace.

I think too much at times, of the dark

that will meet my gaze when You

wish for me back by Your side.

I am terrified of the end.

Though I know You’ll be there,

swooping me up into Your lap,

reproach less smile upon pure beauty.

I’m still scared,

preconceived with the notion

You are Santa Claus.

For every open armed gesture.

Open ear accepting my silence.

Awe at how You laugh loud enough

my nerves edge.

Agape smile never hid out

from my frightened view.

Declaring the age I truly am.

Little girl.

Helplessly wanting her daddy,

with only tears as her speech.

I’ve approached You blurry

more than my fingers amount.

I fret, knowing I forgot to tell him

about the garbage needing emptied,

or the cans pulled back.

The yes or no answer for a move

ahead, or another try again.

I want to hurry everything.

My mouth scrambling together

words to phrases to sentences.

I’ll miss the blessing that comes in

the present package: patience

under circumstantial not knowing

when Your presence will surprise me.

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