You scoff and declare that it will never happen, what glory would that bring the Father?
You are not talking about the elephant.
You, sir, are shaming the new guy who rushed in like a current and charms with his poetic ramblings.
You think that I just see you sitting there, not much to offer more than your might. Youre an idiot. I have consistently seen your goodness.
Who cares if in a Sunday bunch you fade into the backround of a blurry picture.
You’ve been here – and I see you and certainly haven’t forgotten that you are reading my work.
I let you call me by my name.
So, he places the straw in my hair, pins it together like a young girl’s bow.
Casually, effortlessly, mysteriously. A flash or moment in time.
And I don’t know that you see, but you do see me, look up at him and laugh.
[“Pathetically” you say, huh? Don’t be so sure. He is surprises and subtleties incarnate]
Don’t believe for an instant, that you are the only one who saw me pinned.
Someone else saw this moment in advance, and in my dreams whispered to me of His jealousy. The man who turns over tables and longs to gather me under his wings.
And really how long is a year, anyway? Yes, much longer than a weekend – but when compared to the moment the grain started dripping at the foundation of the world. Its nothing, at all reallly.
Who pinned the bow in my hair, first? The one who etched on the palm of my hand, “daughter” and has seen me [forever] as the girl running so quickly to His throne that I trip in the dirt and bust up my knee.
[Holy Hell, I skinned my knee last night on the roof with you – that wasn’t the first time]
None of this is for the first time.