Prison Bars

My prison bars become birds,

Black shadows that fly

Then fade out of view.

I pray I don’t rebuild them to protect myself

From freedom.

Awkward, Not Awful

What would it take to be comfortable in an awkward relationship?”

I’d have to be able to adapt.

I’d have to stay centered.

I’d need to validate my existence independent of what others think of me.

That means I’d have to trust my ability to interpret cues from the environment as well as the prompting of the Still Small Voice.

I need to speak up for myself without trying to push my values onto another person.

That means, of course, that I’d have to know what my core values are.

I’d need to go deep into the part of myself that simply hums I am.

Awkward

Turmoil surrounds you like a mote around a castle.

I can’t get close.

Permission to speak freely?

I don’t think so.

Not on the shaky bridge between us.

I lose my footing.

And I’ve lost my voice.

What did you lose?

What devastating loss caused you to dig a mote in the first place and then fill it up with tears?

Holy Hour

It is dark and still.

The day has just begun.

I bow to the moon and stars;

I bow to the sun.