There’s an obstinacy in this freedom.
A stifling in motion.

Open filaments confuse creativity
by dropping shattered tungsten from its cliffs.
Sparks bounce then darken my mind
with compounded dreams.
Breathless searches produce elements foreign to me.

Panic tainted gifts.

Surrender surfaced to engulf me,
then, balance bridged broken paths.
Restoration created by parallel lines bending.

As I rested on one side,
she told me to stand
where I am
if I was able.

****

She challenged me to flow.
Shed light on my visions
if I had the courage.

Placed me among a resurgence of memories
that confirmed my creative inventory.
They all have been invaluable inspirations.
Yet, this existence at the brink of a new age
has caused me to sleep lightly.

I felt alone and inadequate without them
and thought of giving up.
My being hovered hardened hearts & cartilage
that I’ve scattered from my own *****.

She supports me
and I know that this gift is for me
but it’s not about me.

I rest soundly
more aware and able
to let God use me
where I am.