you will not know how much you are until they take it all
when every part that profits them means nothing when it’s gone
you’re not the way they paint you and you’re not what’s being sold
you’re not appraised commodity, you’re not what you’ve been told

you’re not a man’s perdition in the absence of The Truth
you’re not a force to conquer by the sin you made him do
you’ll know how much you are when you’ve acknowledged what you hid
and in the very act of, you will walk away from this

for those who need to see and feel the physical to breathe
there’s always been an element of, “show me You are here”
the movement of Your Spirit led my spirit to Your Hands
and even though I saw them, it was hard to understand

while both my eyes bore witness to the Miracle You are
my body clung to science and the meaning of the stars
by primitive behavior and by ways You spoke against
I tried to learn the heavens with all hell as my defense

I wandered and I wondered and I wore my body down
I made of my own senses nothing more than passing clouds
I tried to let The Meaning of the reason I am here
convince me You’re a thought that I could make to disappear

I feel like I’m ghosting my patterns
but trading them in as I go
does anyone know how to live in
A Place we all hope to call Home?

I feel like I’ve been an imposter
I know all the ways I went wrong
but I cannot sleep without dreaming
my mind tries to carry it all

I feel like a human behavior
too loud to surrender my noise
I crawl on my knees to be broken
so I can remember Your Voice

though all my crosses bear a weight, they crumble in The Sun
they disappear completely and I slowly come undone
I wandered through a head of space I can’t believe I had
and actively ignored the every question I once asked

though all my choices bear a mark, they don’t define my Soul
they make a way for me to heal as soon as I let go
I recognized the wickedness my beating heart had seen
and actively pursued The Grace that brought me to my knees

your, “who I am,” is in your head
your day-to-day, your daily bread
your, “who I want and hope to be”
your, “here I am,” and, “this is me”

your, “who am I,” is in your blood
your cell-to-cell, your day en kah
your, “in my dreams I see what is”
your, “I believe in all of it”

you have a mind to know The Truth
and may it always humble you
you have a heart to feel again
and may it always give you strength

have you ever read poets you thought you could trust
while they made of your body a temple of lust
if they portioned your pain into doses of words
they could smother your Spirit and feed you to birds

have you ever been rested enough to decide
you would rather be dead to your flesh than your mind
if you took up the weight of your struggle and fear
you could live in a body that serves as a Mirror

I started to ponder the person I was
and went to seek Life to stop seeking out blood
I turned to my mother, who gave me her shoes
so I could walk freely with her in The Truth

we stepped into soil of different kinds  
and learned to be humbled by moments in Time
I turned to my mother, who gave me her hand
so I could be strengthened again and again

I started to move like The Grace in her heart
and put away fear as I fell in her arms    
I turned to my mother and she turned to me
so I could say, “Momma, your Faith led me here.”

a thief believes everyone steals, he once thought
but into his pockets he wept
“I’ve taken and sold for a penny to have,”
“and nothing but nothing is left.”

a thief believes everyone hides, he once heard
so out of the shadows he crawled
The Light would reveal every Promise He Kept
the thief was exposed by them all

a thief can exist when there’s something to take
but not when there’s something to give
so Grace can’t be measured or bought for a dime
or sold for a second to live

The Sun can Rise a thousand times for everyone to see
but dies a single death for one who asks, “can I be free?”
A hundred million answers turn to dust rebuilt by Grace
and Time becomes a Closer Friend than anyone you face

if we change what we say but not how we move
the Truth will uncover the liar we soothe  
and not out of anger and not out of spite
but out of the seeds we have sewn in this life

if we change what we do but not how we speak
the words we have uttered will fall at our feet
perhaps to condemn us, if we should so choose
or maybe to save us from what is a noose

if we change with our heart, we’ll learn by its blood
the things we should say and what needs to be done
not just in the moment, not just here and now
but longer than ever, Forever somehow

I’ve looked up at the stars enough to see they’re made of dust
but when I close my eyes tonight, they’ll start becoming us
we’ll mold their every pattern into meaningful array
and write them on our bodies while we justify decay
if this defines our magic, let my limbs to not exist  
I’d rather be awake than mock The Hands that whisper, “Give.”

should I liken myself to a story
I’d ask to be holding the pen
I would wait for Your Spirit to move me
so I could write freely again

should I liken myself to a season
I’d surely be Winter —  defined
I would capture Its cold with my body
and dance with the Snow in my mind

should I liken myself to a harvest
I’d sow only seeds made of Truth
I would humble my heart in Your Presence
and reap every Winter, Your Fruit

The Truth about The Author is impossible to know  
without admitting weakness for your character to sow
if there be any question that your person begs to ask
then lay it at the Feet of Love and pray for Words to pass  
the more that you are humbled by Intention’s Purest Form  
the less you’ll be inclined to follow wickedness conformed
The Truth about The Author makes it possible to grow
to reap from the Beginning with a conscience deep in woe