Our lives require so much bravery
to live! to love! to write! to believe!
If every poem is a love letter to Gd,
let this be another after others
before more dent pages, empty pens,
empty my heart to exhaustion.
In my chest, upon my back,
weight carried by my thighs —
irreversible histories,
irreconcilable memories —
cheeks burn in shame,
illicit images stain,
quicken my blood,
hasten my desire
to only return
and surrender
these accouterments
rusted by guilt and sorrow
carried to Your tent,
spilled at Your feet.
Let this be an act of praise,
let this be an act of cleaving,
let this be an act of revelation,
of baring, of bearing, a glaring
error of utter trust — here I am,
Gd, in the field to meet You, where You
know my potential is boundless
because so is my lacking.
Photo by David Marcu on Unsplash.
