Wait; go

Speak; think 

Shut up; breathe

Borrowed trust from another age

Flavors of worship ring and rain

Heaven so appetizing and distant and close as sorrow 

Mystery is how I walk,
With bent branches and wicked words

Heart blackening, ripples of death and love pumping, secreting liars and lies, fables and truth reminiscent of latter worlds and former company 

Echoed archangels about the room

Flowers are children breathing life and oxygen, bringing hope and fear to each moment 

Why can’t I be free?

Aches and belly aches and fragmented figments and filaments 

And I behold light behind the glassware; can’t touch, too much heat 

~ Joy Bickham