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.