As It Was

Living must be

A constant cleaning of the crimes in the outermost corners of outbuildings on the back forty of whatever land we’re fortunate to shepherd

A diligent organizing of each and every backshelf, closet, drawer, and centerpiece of these blessed bodies of truth we call Home Sweet Home

An earnest sweeping of matter that ultimately, doesn’t matter, but made its way to the front stoop and attempted to exert squatter’s rights

An eventual Welcome sign placed humbly, breathlessly, on each door we’re otherwise prone to leave sealed up tight, that we would embrace again

Creation must be

And All The People Said

Let the sounds in — all of them!

Have them ramble around, bouncing off the humidity-coated walls

See which ones bust through stop signs and find rhythm with bird songs

Find which ones look like quiet conviction and calls to action

Then mull about together, dialogue, and make sense of this world with them

Create order from disorder and call it good again

At the end of the day, we must

City Of

A woken aura found me

Slow-danced me in silence when I thought to over-think

Baby, flanked in trouble, why?
Come here from over there

With your eyes wide open now
Rest in Me, He said

Dream Uncontained

A garden growing
Green as they get
Just for me somewhere

I cultivate from afar
Sunlight and truth, I send every day
Prayers pollinating good, good soil and seed

Evenings, my knees feel a joyful exhaustion
As I sleep, a Dream, rooted, yet uncontained, leans closer
Morning dew brings proof the weeds haven’t won

Will I reap?
Will the weeping wither, then fade from memory?
Watch with me

Ketchup

Every moment spent on edge
Feeling on the fringe
Shouting matches in our minds
Calm asks where we’ve been

Know there is a fix for this
Truly, there’s a path
Go to your knees, finally
Seek His face and ask