Untitled poem written on a Whiny Day. Don’t tell me it stinks– I have delicate little feelings. (snicker)
The eternal dancing of a suffering soul finds endless improvisation to avoid the flame.
I know a thousand ways to avoid holding You close.
You know a thousand and one to keep me tucked into the sanctuary of Your heart.
You hold me in truth and all that must depart wiggles and squirms, sprouting a hedgehog’s back to dig in, tearing, burning until the inevitable surrender to Your command.
The hand I hold up to check progress comes away bleeding.
Of course it does.
The throbbing soreness left behind, lingering into tomorrow, stretching past the foreseeable future sends me looking for excuses to avoid another round.
So tell me—how many of these pointy little bastards lie buried, awaiting exorcism?
I’m astounded at my own creativity. I hold Your hands at a safe distance and work up my cutest smile, the one You claim to like so well.
Much better thanks, completely well in fact.
Hurting? Not a bit.
Funny how You don’t budge.
Smile, yes. Move one inch to follow in my delusion?
Your purpose is certain. Your desire to leave this place of healing, marching on to other victories together.
And if lying here next to Your heart, squirming, screaming, crying moves us closer to the joy—
Really should learn to give up sooner.
So how much squealing are You up for today?