Speaking in tongues in accordance of
      The audience, prior the winds of your voice
To be spoken in my ear of that accordion
      Accordingly so of the bellows—the chorus of
Love in that mellow tone of a Holy orchestra
      A symphony of the Bible; all revealing many mysteries
As I constantly read more of you

All the text setting a picture of your context
my joy is content: not like a performance
      Of this world's contest

Psalms 121:1‭-‬2 NIV
I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

So as the top would say;
I'd lift my eyes higher than the mountains
    To you Lord—
Of where my help comes from everyday

So I pray: to be humbled by your grace—
    non dependent on man to guarantee the will
Of your way
    In Jesus name I pray, Amen.

If suffering is happiness
and tears are love
I am devotion itself
break me
I’ll pen thank you notes in blood

you want to see
how soft and tender my flesh is
and crack the inside of my mind open
like a pomegranate,
ruby jewels spilling onto white sheets.
i offer my plum ripe heart to you greedily
prey wanting to be hunted,
only to be left with sticky hands
from trying to hold myself together
when you walk away.