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Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Soon II

My skin feels tight and close, 
like a noose desiring to be tightened;
It's dry and crackle pops when I walk.

So I've sat here, quite still 
And let my eyes roam freely 
But my mouth's just too dry to talk.

The air, burning broad across my back
makes me wonder what it looks like
with the winds that shifted west so fast.

Layers are perfect darling, aren't they?
And blood for pumping strong. And weak.
I'll sit here quiet until I can no longer.

I'll have to move soon, for the wind,
even if my skin breaks free of it’s bones;
like porcelain, like stars, like powder caked and blown.

I wonder what these winds will show me?
Where they will lead? 
Gusts across a dessert barren; or not.

Now. Move. 
You were not made only to question.
You were made to act upon your heart’s deepest image.

The one that was put upon it by God’s own hand.
The one you hear whispered when you dream.
The one you whisper when no one is listening.

Listen hard, my love.

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