Something guttural
Tribal
Ancient
Wells up in me
Rattling my heart
Beating against my bones
A flame consuming my breath
Nearly exploding out of me
From places
Unknown
Untouched
Until the
Spear
Of my
Warrior King
Pierced the walls

The leaves scuttle across my windshield
Whispering “it’s coming, it’s coming,”
As if to say, the autumn of life is here
The delusion that this place, this time
Is all we ever wanted -
This delusion, this prison,
It’s dying.

My desire for these familiar,
Insufficient feelings
Is floating away on the groaning wind.
The earth moans in its shadowed captivity,
Tossing, turning, waiting.

The leaves pile up on the ground,
Decaying
Preparing the way

They whisper “it’s coming, it’s coming,”
And out of the musty death push
Burgeoning tendrils
Of the greenest green
Of liberation
Of new birth
Of redemption

These, the mere intimations
Of the exquisite bright of the
Summer sun

They whisper “it’s coming, it’s coming,”
And I hear the trees, the birds, the very clouds
Hold their breath in expectation
I too, watch the skies
For Freedom is very near

Leaves applaud our journey as trees slide by
While chatter fills my ears and laughter spills
From open windows flowing to the sky
With brightly painted memories and thrills.

Your ocean eyes hold mine in their deep gaze -
The rearview mirror shines your steady love,
The quiet strength that supports all my days
Whose power comes from God, The Lover above

My brittle heart has stored up years of hurt
Years of words unspoken, feelings unfelt
You untie knots and tenderly assert
You will protect against ev’ry blow dealt

A hero dressed in simple and bold terms
subtly saving lessons we have learned.