Innerdialects

^{12/40 verse Lent from the Cross}

This moment has wings, and I let it fly in the winds over our wars. I let it soar in the fires of human anger, pain, loss, withdrawals,

I lean them in the winds of change, watch how they re- arrange Us. These are the wings of Praying? I spread them ‘neath His skies,

His Eyes, looking down, bleeding an Emotion ripe with Blood. His Garden full of That. So this is what He bled at Gethsemane:

that Garden of tears. He drank a Cup Bitter with us.

I sit in the floor Here, resting my wings, am drawing the shape of His Silence. It has Arms and Feet, a Heart and Arms reaching me…

staring at how there’s so much to learn, unlearn from human dialects. We are coarse in our definition of True Love:

We are Refugee/ Hostage of our own need to be with Him: our own need to with Him. Our own need to be with Him.

Daily writing prompt

What experiences in life helped you grow the most?

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