Pride runs deep
in the response to critique
believing truth is yours to speak
instead of accepting the thought is complete

Pride creates vanity
when we portray personal perception of sanity
as a means of clarity
to support our desire to shape humanity
ignoring our own profanity
that exists in one's own mind

You reek of pride
hiding behind your glass wall
thinking yourself to know enough
when you know nothing at all

Oh Babylon you sit
on your thrown of ancient stone
will you forever sit there
until Christ has you overthrown?

Leave me alone.

I love free falling in a dream
Floating down at tremendous speed
Not a care and not a scare
Because I know I will soon wake up
But if I don’t and reach the bottom
I’ll just roar back up and do it all again!

I wonder if he knew I was there.
My father, that is.
We were not very close at that time.
Typical things
Hair too long
Wasting energy on foolish things
And on foolish friends.
He worked too hard for nothing I wanted
And I worked too hard at nothing.
Words grew sparse with increasing distance.
When the time came that I was not quite a man
And he dwindling away.
I would go to the hospital on my lunch break,
Creep into his room.
At first he put on the brave face
"Gonna fight this bear"
But the bear was tireless and metastasized.
Often when I arrived, ***** and sweat stained
He would be asleep
And so I would sit nearby
And if he woke we would talk.
I would encourage him to eat
And he'd say "I'll try".
But often my time would pass
His eyes still closed.
And I would creep back out.
Decades later, I wonder
Did he know how many hours I spent
Wordless and waiting.
Unaware of what I needed to say
And believing there was nothing worth hearing.

A runner caught in between a choice of two safe havens; one has greater reward than the other yet outnumbered in foe so the plot thickens whilst the crowd roars in glee at the quick facts and fiction of the scramble.

After,
the critique sounds like bable.

You're ending line feels like a runner
who doesn't have confidence in their ability.

I miss my voice.
I miss speaking clearly with precision.
With words attempting to paint a vision.
Consistent monotonous syllables pouring
from a mouth connected to a brain that
functioned at a quick pace and found
each word a place.
A learned habit.
Diligently sought.
Quickly forgot.
But I celebrate.
Words will flow freely,
my brain will think purely,
words will be sublime.
With ease I will speak,
with the display of tender
and meek,
reflecting the God I seek,
proof that Christ makes
the strong from the weak.
No worries.
No fears.
Knowing love.
Crying joyful tears.

shallow roots
the slightest breeze
a torrential event

Amazing-Rivers
Go even long distances
Just to kiss the sea.