Répondez, S’il Vous Plaît

You can keep my past,
heavy, in your pocket,
my mistakes,
as souvenirs on your mantle;

an impressive repertoire of iniquities,

but, he… he interprets my whispers,
quiets my hunger
with gold-edged pages,

red letters in a book;
shows me the poetry in psalms,
picks me up, shakes off the dust,
turns poets into prophets,
opens hearts like lotus flowers
with just a touch of his hand,
brings bouquets of promises,
in his time,

and I won’t need a watch where I’m going.

When darkness tries to steal me away,
he leads me into the light,
fills my aching spirit,
not with temporary, earthly things,
but, a warmth that moves mountains,
calms streams.

He walks on water,
washes over me
to clean the inside,
the vase,

the vessel
to share my testimony,

follow me.
Follow him.

There are those, like you,
lips that dare to mock his name,
sneer at the very thought of such holiness

and where be you?

In smoldering places
void of dreams,
a pit full of ashes, pitiful you,
seeking me?
Oh, yes,

Misery loves company.



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