You spoke me in lines.
Oh my darlin’ come awake!
Let those blues meet infinite
expanses, where dreams break
open your mouth as you wish.
You cry to these thieves thick
with the same welling you learn
lonely by misplacing another will.
Sumatra, they will tell tell you.
It’s better to be an island,
you’re protected this way.
You’ll forget Me—how I dress
the daisy, colored yellow bumble
bee. A sting found sitting in a pew,
thinking I will come out of the box,
where they say lie My remains.
I will scream, condemn, hurt you,
as the people arguing beside you after leaving.
You’ll look for a drug—not alcohol, cocaine, or Mary Jane—
no, you’ll look for approval in your mother, father, any friend,
even your own eyes. Every move you’ll question, not wanting
a mistake defining forevermore. You’ll become lost, nervous, aching,
crying: won’t someone tell me where I can be found? You’ll find yourself
walking through walls: heartbreak of a boy eager for flesh, your parents
hanging between hello & goodbye, and your need to be seen by the world/
You’ll find Me here, breathing a songbird melody
down inside your heart, caged too long in fright
you may not be worthy. Such a tuning could make
you proud, wasting time while others move along.
I don’t win hearts over the same as how the west
was won, through anger & bloodshed. No,
I extend My hand to you, Jack to Jill,
where we walk living water & child.
Up the hill, I look you over, smiling,
My dear, do not fear, the best day of your life
rests in My hands, don’t you see these moments
are not a hologram, but pure heart?