Ideas of who you are are no longer boxed in
When the dust settles over grave and grass grows thick over death, your life still quickens in the womb of a mother’s grief.
Bouquet of memories
Birthed from the womb of your grave, I gasp my first breath of new life and cry out.
I love finding other poets to respond to in poetry. Take a look at Radhika Shah’s poem, “Depression calls again” as posted on Jalvis Quotes. My response: Bed made, doubt can’t stop me. Renumbered days feel possible. Attention, I will not quit! Not your call, Not…
You flatly refused my flattery and filtered my deflated ego through your humility .
God’s in the kitchen whipping up a fresh day. Sunshine sprinkled with cinnamon clover invites me into barefoot, porch swing conversations with the Holy Spirit. He kneads my soul with scripture. Buttering bitterness of yesterday’s failures with confession and forgiveness and baking in the…
I thought I was refuse . . .
Your suicide left my soul deep within smothering grief. . .
Frostbit by fear I keep feeling Dented by doubt I keep driving Burnt by bitterness …
Souls bubbling up, gushing with undeserved love. — the gospel of Spring.
When demanding circumstances have tattered faith and still the needs of today grab. You invite my soul to sail. A sea of stillness, where none can touch, there restore with sweet and salty parables of faithfulness.