this mercy

i hate this spot, this pit stop. that i come round to it when the band aid gets ripped out. that it still tells me that i am not completely over it. that the many nights of supper and good company still hasn’t completed the searing pain that comes from a moment’s absence. that those 9 months of waiting out in a jail cell for the return of the king, still has its dancing shadows over me. that these are but shadows but these are still the realities that hit my shores like weapons of understated destruction. that, if it is jealousy or envy, i don’t know how to cry about. its still hard to breathe and to get used to it. that my heart still has problems forgetting the pain of the cold walk in the dark, crossing busy angry streets, to go back to an abandoned hole that’s mutated some form of insanity in me. the very things that i need is the furthest of reach. that i cannot see, even with all the faith i pray intimately at night, believing that God is big enough to let risks run its course, that i might find myself turning into a pillar of salt, grey from yesterday’s baggage. that this abyss and deep groan has gone so far down into the rabbit hole that i lose sight and hope to believe it will ever be replaced with goodness. for even short messages, phone calls and sweetness of gestures have done nothing but momentarily delayed my anatomy from flaring up in a leprous rash. save me with the very things that i am afraid of, the very delay that has taken a long time to embrace, save me from my imaginations and tendencies. for this day, i am only holding on to the goodness i can see and touch, at my wits’ end, to tide me over.

and then, dinner arrives, just in time, with a corridor conversation that set my feet onto another launching pad that smells of a familiar love and grace. may this not be just another distraction. may it take more than a song in my heart to save us all.

listening aid

that it tires my bones
to hear this well packed out
well eloquent moral of the story
where did my patience, wonder and amazement go?
have i lost the plot
lost the love i have inside of me
that it feels perhaps that i am all empty inside
unable to cry
watching nonchalantly
listening to what sounds like another round of rationalization
manipulation, bent, so it becomes convenient
so the conscience is easy.

where Oh where, is your first love?
where Oh where, have you sold your dreams?

that now, i find it too painful to remain faithful
loyal, and watch your back.
i am losing it again
a second or a third or whatever this may be
to find your ears still deaf
your heart still stone cold
your flesh still louder than the cry of the spirit

but who am i to play God?
who am i to you anyway?

if i walk away, will my shadow leave with me?
if i stay, do i wait in self righteous anger?
for i am not complete myself
not even any step ahead of you
for i have my own demons
and i am still deaf to my own pride and ego
that i am still living in the very of sin

i lay down my sword
time and time again
but this night
the pain reached a new depth
that i am once again an over used recyclable canvass
that i don’t know how i got here
how i am just a blemish on your windscreen
how i am just a sideshow convenient dog

that i want to matter more than just your punching bag
that i want to be more than just your fall back when you fall down
that i want to be acknowledged and spoken to, not just when you feel like it,
that i want to know my existence is important to you

so, in this epic episode,
why do i feel like i have been crossed?

dive

there’s a little traction and the tyre marks are evidence of some weeks of grace and mercy. i’ve been basking in the spill over of someone else’s busy schedule. these are the days when staying in the moment is the only thing keeping me afloat and alive. my thoughts, some days, drift me further away from my present reality, but i am glad we have had a few good nights of warm soup, blankets and slam dunk. i’ve been dreaming in cartoon caricatures.

right now, i don’t want to think of the future. for i know i have no faith for it. i don’t know how i will mutate, although hints and symbols have been playing up and pushing the salted wounds. i just want to dive into work, music, creation. wrap myself in a garment of senses and wonder and walk away from the things that keep me up all night.

i still dream of hugs and affections and wishful therapy. these that i still hold on to, these that seem to intensify the poison and complication. i’m hiding and looking away but the imagery feeds me with rage and restlessness. i want to participate but i know i don’t have the anatomy nor the confidence to pull it off. i can see it but it’s out of reach. so near, yet so far. if this ever turns ugly, keep the guns away from me, and let His merciful judgement cover me.

If you love me, God, don’t keep salvation away from me.