two hundred-ninety nine.

repetition reprise.

there's nothing new
that rests beneath the sun -

in finding this to be true,
she stopped being surprised
with the same old news.

turning her blues into high yellows
and erasing the two lips with tulips
from the field of gracious green grass -

witnessing the growth of what that
never ending repetition produces, there
lies the acceptance of the idea that

there is nothing new
that rests beneath the sun.

two hundred-ninety eight.

never runs out.

the second you place
your feelings in the position
of authority - you lose control.

      mayhem takes flight.
      chaos mentally destroys you.

the second you place
Jesus in the position
of authority - you lose control.

      peace is impressed upon you.
      grace spiritually restores you.

                                                       He'll never run out on us.

the touch of time.

as time takes its familiar route around my life, i watch it pass while i live and see photographs in my memory of what has come and what has settled and what is still, framed in the present.  i slip into the soft edges of bliss each time i think about what beauty has crept into my spirit, so gently - so genuinely. when you feel the grip of care clench you around your heart, you freeze, frightened and in disbelief because the feeling seems to be foreign.  then, you begin to relax and melt into the palms of care and realize that it's ok.  it's safe.  there should not be a riled up emotion of scare.  so you exhale and begin to wrap your thoughts around the foreign feeling, following its lead and taking it as it is, nothing more, nothing less. this time, time collected a newness - something afresh.  a sensation that hasn't been tampered with, hasn't been exposed, one that is nameless and unknown.  my soul breathes it in as if it were its only source of fine oxygen to be sustained.  time.  

time has delivered a pair, two pairs, three singing pairs of eyes that harmonize so delightfully with the breeze that summer refuses to neglect and my soul dances to its melody.  my soul dances without resistance.  my soul dances and dances and dances until its weary limbs fall back into the grip of care's palms that are made up of sparkling jewels of peace.  a tenderness that is so often missed by the emptiness of daunting desires, mistaken for the fullness of virtuous value.  those palms, that clasped the brim of a heart that's been used for entertainment's sake, juggled until it was near its break, cradled it so carefully near its own bosom and reassured it of its safety.  my heart.  those palms.  what bliss my heart has landed in.  what euphoria my heart has been blanketed with.  what rapture my soul has been taken into.  and without any questions, i travel, following the Light that has guided me in and out of the darkness of danger.

no words can explain what time has brought down this rugged road i've traveled and trekked for as long as time has allowed.  but i've learned that my finish line is farther than miles can be calculated.  love won't leave my side - love won't dash from the view of my heart's eyes.  one day at a time, because time refuses to be passed by.  and i've learned that time won't let passion be burned away.  ashes don't exist for passion. passion is long lasting and ready to own what's thrown at its disposal.  it's living in me and through me, driving me to places i've longed to be, and would value to envision.  passion, its stability is free.  time has delivered an adventure of life and love my way - so here i am.  i'm here and there's no time for me to dissipate.  

• love every single moment,
• support those who are broken,
• care like it's necessary to live,
• explore crafts that have rested,
• reflect personally and privately,
• value, with fullness, every word that showers you,
• live as if life is personally pleading you to.

two hundred-ninety seven.

unfamiliarity.

there's a world that has
been born inside of
her womb, that
she can't
make sense of -

its existence lacks sense
and its presence lacks sense.

it has been born on the inside
of her, craving to escape but
it just keeps on
turning.

so, she waits.