repeat please

waiting is what makes up the repeat

in waiting, we cling to what we anticipate

may we anticipate only that which is worthy...

...that which has value

...that which lasts after the waiting is over

because what we cling to in waiting

is what molds us into who we are after the waiting is over

thus, waiting is what makes it worth repeating

so that we do not return the same as were before

reblippinpeat

face it

run.

crash

shatter.

be still

heal.

trust

peace.

strengthen

set free.

live

love.

return

repeat.

...

of course i return

but why must i repeat?

no need to wonder

but how did i forget?

my mind does not remember

my heart does not feel.

but certainly does my body knows.

empty is a lie

The enemy plays a thief

stealing the hope within

founded in ever-flowing grace

always preparing a place

for perfect unity

creating unrivaled beauty

able to repair and restore

leading to steadfast faith.

the purging storm

sitting where we've met so many times before

leaves and life once kept our encounters hidden.

now winter's death has stripped limbs bare

ripped to the ground lay nature's curtains.

and here i am much like the trees surrounding

laughter and life once clothed me from head to toe.

but love has escaped as the thief of my own concealment

leaving my messy nature utterly exposed.

my feeble skin is a lousy cover from the heavy rain 

soaking my already saturated soul.

a mere satin shield for the piercing darts of the wind 

penetrating the target painted on my core.

unyielding are the wind and the rain

weathered and eroded now lays my beaten heart.

and in rushes the freezing cold

which immediately evokes cursing.

its bite and sting are certainly not welcome

so i fight it but find myself defenseless.

i must surrender and submit

to the sovereign source of the storm.

and soon i am overcome

by its wondrous effects.

a beautiful blanket of snow 

now cloaks my once naked heart.

its wounds are healed and its cracks mended

now glistening white, made pristine and pure.

an escape behind bars

they frantically descend into the station

duck under the turnstiles

and skid down the stairs

the little one's two-year old legs can't keep up; 

his father nabs him by the hand

and tucks him under his arm

prompted by her father's screaming orders,

she dashes ahead to hold open the doors of their getaway train

in order to secure their escape

her duty fulfilled 

with the help of a concerned observer

as her father lugs on his baggage of a toddler

plopped onto the slipper seat

the boy slides about

until a plop to the floor triggers a whimper and tears

but this goes unnoticed by the father

who tends to his interest with a lady

while his daughter takes it all in

the doors shut

the train races ahead

they flee what's behind

mistaking the Downtown 6 

for their means to freedom

in case doubts linger

the father drills his daughter

with several leading questions;

her trembling lips continually utter a forced response

yes...this is f***in better

yes...he f***in loves her more

yes...her momma don't care about no other f***ers

but her eyes tell a different story

the churlish commands and manipulative inquiries

elicit a look of fear that knows no freedom

the words of her father

are the bars that keep her mind

a prisoner to lies and a stranger to truth

the actions of her father

are the shackles that bind her aching heart

from receiving love

only the Truth can set her free in Love

omnia vincit amor,

et nos cedamus amori