Smudged tiles and tilted walkways,
Machines that clunked and rattled,
Accompanied by drowsy people
Waiting for grace.

I stumbled to an empty metal box,
My filthy rags clutched in my hands,
And threw them in, falling to my knees.
I had no detergent,

No way to wash the deep-rooted stains
The world had reaped upon them.
My own choices stared back at me like
Dirt from the subway.

Tears started to carve tracks down my
Face as the blood of Jesus soaked
Into the garments, covering the grime
As they began to spin.

When I opened the door, they were
Made new again.

The pattern of the chains
Imprints on the pads of
My hands as I cling tightly
To the swings.

My hair is taken by the wind.
I hear a song in my head.
I sway back and forth, my
Feet dry from the sand.

The moment is taken
Too soon.

No matter the years
That settle themselves
On my frame,
I will forever be a Child,
Pushed on the swings
By my Father.

Excitement was padded
By the weighted blanket
Of nailed in dates—

Times I knew I could not
Let people down, or back
Out, without hurting them.
I wasn’t giving up—

If it was up to me, I would
Already be up, up, on the
Wind, away from all that
I could not change—

But my soul still resided
Here, in the body God
Crafted for me since the
Beginning—

I was not a bundle of joy,
Planning things with the
Anticipation of a child,
I was a servant—

Abiding God's plan in Him
Wanting me here,
 the Spirit
Working in my otherwise
deceitful heart.

The only thing I can do today
is breathe.
--Feel the air move slowly, quietly,
begrudgingly through my chest.
The pressure of the world squeezes in,
and I try to walk, try to use my limbs.
But all of my energy is occupied
by the simple act
of breathing.

The busy-bodied thoughts
That complained they were
Late for work, slowed their
Pace as a gentle Spirit
Descended on the grubby,
Activity-ridden streets.
Their hands loosened their
Grip on the hard-edged
Briefcases, and the buzz
In their bodies settled
Into a lackadaisical hum.