you can do it, my love.

with your first step,
you are on your way-
and how good does it feel!
how light is the pack
now that your feet are in motion?
darling you could trek to the stars.

in your journey
you'll surely encounter spirits:
some will come to you from above;
most will well from inside,
but a few will rise from below,
(evil and toxic enemies of the angels).
pay heed to each spirit,
request and receive its transmission
and refer again to your fingers,
releasing their grip of control
on your hurtling craft.
You have done this and should rightly be proud.
(That is to say, smile at your righteousness.)
A path appears before you from the darkness,
the Lord is crafting your road from gold-
You cannot fail!

Forgive the populous their opinions.
Whether you are loved or hated,
you are on the path of the Lord.

I've taken to the wind that moves what I may never see
And yet I feel it close enough to shift inside of me
It's there one day and gone the next but never for too long
Exhaling truth and bringing us to right where we belong
I never would have thought to put my life into its hands
But nothing else can even touch on what its strength commands
I'm done with all the chasing and escaping when I can
No longer will i fight the kind of human that I am
I've given all I am to you, the breath of all the world
So take me where I need to go like I'm your little girl

will you tell me of the hues that drip and bleed onto your canvas—
the streaks
the smudges
the smears.
are they the ones flowing through your veins
twisting—turning
to reach that place I long to call home?
or maybe the ones residing in your eyes
flickering—hiding
behind the mask you too willingly wear?
will you
show me the color of dawn
when darkness sheds its skin and kisses goodbye.
the amethyst seas
where sirens beckon from the deep.
the color of blood
when it meets oxygen’s lips.
the strokes of rain against the window pane
where you spent your autumn afternoons.
the cups of undrunk tea
that your mother left sitting on the kitchen table.
will you
show me the hues of your paint-stained hands
that I have yet to hold
so maybe—just maybe—
I too can see the colors you see.