Can I wash my thoughts clean?
Can I  turn them inside out?
Can I transform my thoughts to glean?
Can they be renewed? I pout.

Is that Your work Holy Spirit?
Washing my thoughts? Or am I too mean?
Try other ways, primp and preen?
Am I doomed until I’ve made them seen?

I feel like a child throwing a tantrum,
But an adult, I want to be.
I want to grow like an oak in the garden,
that others come to see. 

Will it always be a huff and puff?
Hard work all the way?
Or will there be something I use my gruff,
And transform it into play?

Even now as I put pen to paper,
free my thoughts out to breathe,
The intensity turns into a caper,
And I allow myself a reprieve.

Enjoy this season of transformation,
It will always be your bread.
I am growing in emancipation,
And it will be this way till I’m dead.

But even then, I gain new life,
With You free from the grave.
For death, with you, has no strife,
And believing that makes me brave.

So, I will lift my head again,
And once again, I will breathe in,
I will let my eyes search along the plain,
And go, a smile beaming from within.

My body holds tight,
Like a clenched fist.
Unbreakable, it seems,
Solid footing admist?
But inflexible and stuck; fixed.
Fluidity and freedom it craves,
Screaming: "Release me!"
Like a teenage dancer, out at an all-night rave.
So I shake in an attempt to break,
The perception of danger,
And look to the horizon,
For a time without anger.
I guess I can laugh?!
That I’ve spent so much time,
In the void,
Stuck,
****!
But at least I’ve got rhyme.
To express these feelings,
And give my voice value,
To free the new me,
And to live life afresh and see.
Truly see!

How sweet are Your lips that speak life;
Hope sparkles like rubies and gold.