I thought surrender is that easy —
Like the flowing river
So natural to begin with itself
And last in its bestowed
Eternity.
I hope to ponder for another time
Like shifting the clock
And be wise as the future foretells
That I could ever throw a line
To the Captain of the sky
As I whisper through my tears
So He could catch me
In the middle of longingness and satisfaction.
Maybe this time,
I could truly call for hope
And receive what I’ve uttered
In every prophetic season
When I was relieved with assurance
That there’s a prerequisite to “help.”
And so later in these milli-seconds counting
One palm could rest on another
As if raising a voice but always in silence.
Maybe I could always yearn for more
And even learn more
Urge no more toward the death of a dream
And start to glide
Like a kite without wings.
My re-writing this piece:
PREREQUISITE TO HELP
i
I thought surrender is that easy —
Like a flowing river
So natural to begin with itself
And last in its bestowed
Eternity.
ii
I hope to ponder for another time
In another space
Like shifting the clock,
Switching personas
Or even by holding the time in its deepest sleep.
iii
I still have left myself in the picture
Of being wise as the future foretells
That I could ever throw a line to the Captain of the sky
As I whisper by my tears
So He could catch and match my need
In the midst of “I can” and “I can’t”
In the midst of hope and loss
And in the midst of cost and cause.
iii
Maybe I could still yearn for more
To even learn for more,
And urge no more towards the death of a dream
And start to glide
Like a kite without fallen wings.
iv
Maybe this time,
I could truly dwell in hope
And tear down every wall that cost nothing
In building and finishing a cause
That even matters more than naked eyes.
v
And so when I receive what I’ve uttered in spiritual realm
In every prophetic seasons —
Where I was relieved with assurance
That there’s a prerequisite to “help.”
vi
And so later in these milli-seconds of counting of time
Everything is dealt in not-so-hidden reason
Of the returning of a Son.
One palm could finally rest to another
As if raising a voice, always in silence
But in time —
Will truly fulfill what’s written in no schemes.