Talking to my God
mutes the background of worldly idolatries,
voices that whisper of fear and hate and jealousy
and box me in until I’m stuck
in a dark corner of my ghoul-filled soul,
but the light that gleams from my heart
up to my closed lids finds me
walking on water to answer the call of the Lord,
for I cannot drown in the river of my sorrows
when He raises my chin and shows me the way
to an eternal place that will lift my spirit
if I raise my hands in worship.
I’d rather ask forgiveness
from that Savior in the Sky who listens to a sinner’s
valley-ramblings than shun the thirst for hope in this world,
even if it means chasing pride with holy water.

Talking to my God,
and the praise pours out, smoother
than the oil that blessed me as I stood
before my friend, our heads bowing
not from the shame that men forced upon us,
the lights we’ve lost and the suffering that broke us,
but from a conviction that resides in our hearts:
*Let us love one another, for love is from God.