Mother

Spring flowers bloomed conception,

as she carried a force with umbilical connection.

Sang songs of familial relations,

until snowflakes glistened the new life cascade.

A frigid orange air whispered secrets better left to a howl.

Still

he was comfortably cared for.

Mature trees blistered blood-stains

above impubescent seedlings.

As seasons altered and changed,

adolescent scents choked out hope,

pollinating the atmosphere with songs of red age.

Connection disconcerted

confounded by careless captions,

or

lyrics of hate.

Sixteen years passed,

and

they found themselves at an impasse.

Ripped her out of the present,

a forced recollection of the past.

Joy rendered fantasy,

clouded by dissonant breath.

How ironic –

She: granted life

He: returned death.

“I’m sorry

mom.

You gifted me with sight,

how dare I not see

the Christ in you,

reflecting mercy on me.”

Forgiven for all said

and left

undone.

Suddenly.

Harmony falls, like Autumn, from trees,

while expectation sprouts legs – be free!

Under the same season’s sun

hope journeys forward and on,

to an orange-chorded sea

where meaning is tanned

by photosynthetic minds.

With new life emerging

out of murky red shorelines.

Thank you.

I love you, too.

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Already/Not Yet (or: “Sorry, by the way.”)

Dark truths written on paper
Truths insomuch as subjective experience is objective
Peeling back, reeling back, so I can know what’s inside my mosaic soul
To be known by myself, and to be known by You
You want honest,
Well – fuck You.
I say that and feel a twinge of sorrow and regret
A siren that signals that I’m different than that arrogant boy who was always
blaming, blaming, blaming everyone (and You)
Not by much, as far as I can see,
But dear Jesus, I’m different now
Thank you – You’re setting me free