Peeling Back Layers
Save, we pray!
Storm Prayer
Clouds drift,
Finding me should be simple.
Yet I am lost,
waiting for ax-fall,
does the tree make a sound?
The mind, the mind:
Morality says timber.
Humanity says love me.
Thunder doesn’t belong under sheets,
Lightning doesn’t belong beneath trees,
And storms don’t vanish with whispers.
Are you Jesus?
Do you walk on water?
If so—
pray, fix me, Lord.
If so.
If so.
It’s been a long life,
born wrong, thrust forward,
trailer still chained
to the boy inside.
I thought I could strip it,
Gut the wrong and
become the dreamed,
but I only learned
how to wear the cloak—
An emperor’s new clothes—
and let you all call me:
Golden.
Luminous.
Ruby slippers among sneakers.
—
You sold me so well
I bought my own myth.
Words are dangerous currency—
Buy action,
Sell suffering.
Here am I:
Not the man worshipped,
Not the fraud hoped,
Just the storm itself,
Thunder breaking in a bed,
Lightning-split tree,
Prayer no god is
coming to answer.
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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