If I am failing,
if that is what's ailing me
then I sit uncomfortably
with death at my side.

In the ruins where I strayed
where I played
I have stayed for too long
and
time has abruptly erupted.

It's Sunday
and I am practising
my shining
just in case
'Jesus
wants me for a sunbeam'

My absence would be enjoyed
By those affected by my existence
The freedom of free will
Everyone’s rights


Yet to find those words
That the thoughts would drape
A perfect combination of grace
Expressed


Into the vast expanse
Untroubled, still, the rivers flow
Sometimes signs of storms
Washed ashore, still

🌿🌿

Love is not a maturation of voices to the more sublime,
But sotto voce, an undertow of groping intonations,
The sod of soil hearts cast across the reaping sea.

I wrote a little something,
To the ones who loved you, Dear,
Of the things I wished to tell you,
If only you were here.

But some words can't be written,
For just anyone to read.
Sometimes they're more specific.
For a special one indeed.

He's my love and my best friend,
And this is just my way,
Of telling him a few of,
The things I wish to say.

I'd say you were his first love,
And that I hope to be his last.
I'd let you know I love his flaws,
And I even love his past.

I'd remind you what an amazing man,
That he turned out to be.
And I'd tell you I can't imagine,
Anyone better made for me.

I'd tell you just how thoughtful,
Your baby really is.
I'd tell you just how proud I am,
To tell the world I'm his.

I'd thank you from the bottom of mine,
For his wholesome heart.
For I know that that's a piece of you,
And it has been from the start.

I'd tell you how hard he works,
But not so much for himself.
I'd tell you how he gives his all,
And gives to everyone else.

I'd tell you from a mother's eyes,
Because it's what we all long to see,
Is our baby boys grow up,
And this is what they'll be.

And these are just a few, my dear,
Of the things I wish to say.
I know I'll get the chance to tell you,
On God's golden streets some day.