My God what is this Place

You ve been a Song, Verse even a Dance so often / a verbal delivery andoh God so many things < You must know I’m stunned here and not taking Your Name in Vain

what is this Place / it used to be where I lived and had our morning tea just this morning

where we all have our stuff and mirrors and shelves and books and brushes, oh God to think here You are

and askn me , what I would ask of thee !! What kind of question is that. Like I’m Barty of the Testament, I cant answer You  just yet

I wasnt prepared for You crashing into my day’s schedule/ what on earth does one ask God : more than just all this. or that or that

or that. Or even that. Scared to look behind my shoulder..scared to ask / what if what if You think I’m wicked to even think I can ask too much

oh but Lord God If I could, I’d ask, this this this, not just for my child and daughters, or my man or life and home an work

yes this , this, just this: I cannot speak or capsule a word. what are words or tears or songs or stance > whats a language, nothin

i got You , there by the dining chair, You asking, just like that, What would  I ask…

If

If you could stand tall on one leg look someone straight in the eye even if you are lame or blind if I could succeed in letting you cross this street, alone to pay your bills, and someone else’s, then you can be a man my son, and I would have lived. I would so have lived.

Naked Prayers bt this street and that

wish I could ask well enough to help this broken child’s mind ,even

Standing tall on one leg

bridge the gaps between our heads

our thresholds,

streets

our  krzillions  ; their little greedy mouths  never fed enough

could we ever find a way to  never ever walk past their  unashamed bowl

stitch masses of  warmth  to cover their soul

to  love enough to never tire

wish there were words enough, wise strategy to fence every need there ever is that is within human reach ,

not just because the head hurts so much,  not just from looking at ever

y screaming face on my street

and every blind eye that turns away from The excessive plea…

but the widening Space between all our logical conclusions.

Oh could I just shut up & walk out this door, this Place with  so much but

not enough not enough for all our bread and coffee, our soap & sha

mpoo and soft gentle prayers that help us stop shivering out loud

Oh I so screaming demand  a  way  to wipe out  one more aching scowl  legitimately   :

the eye hunger / the bare bare feet that need  to cross over from their end of the cardboard house strung with old shaggy rope and gutter flea

to where I live with me..

I wish God You would show me how

show me where to go, today

where not to

Nothn

nothn can separate me from the ocean

its rivers, and trees

its sands and yards and

secrets in the very early morning

Nothn.

If

theres a Power that can shove past every diagnosis

every emotion

every slap

every jagged memory

every curse

every thing….

…

why’m I still a grave digger

Broken

in all the right places

all

the right places

What can I say after that

Prisoners

of Hope,

thats who we are, I

and the soul of me, and He and you reading this

Hope.

Sweet Perfect Torment

to see and reach

and oneday possess, eternally