while i ask how

right now,
from this one place
i could try hiding ache
familiar inside my head.
tears may collect like a
lake behind my glasses,
i’ll wonder at stones cast
at my statement: stop
yelling. without love,
sadness would never
greet my chest; man,
of many knew well.
i imagine when he
felt obsolete, his
head bowed on the
mountaintop known
for lonesome blues
& in the silence
a balm blew
warm across
his pure milk
soul: it’s going
to alright, my son.

Written while listening to this woman’s music. I’m pretty sure she’s been on repeat for days/weeks. Almost every song goes straight into my soul, truth for my soul. And I can’t stop singing. Good thing God loves listening.

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