If you could see your words
take shape
be molded by tone
and objectified,
what would you see?
Fire, smoke and a list of ingredients;
band aids, seesaws and closed doors
Would be my parents talking.
My brother speaks in masks
and vulgar clown paint
with occasional mossy rocks
My sister in syringes
with blacked out labels,
fences and reflective windows
I've heard spoken
hugs, cacti and
dusty old maps
But Jesus speaks
ointment, bread, a balanced sword
and living water.
I am striving
for less bombs and barbed wire
and more Jesus.
No comments:
Post a Comment