The Father the Son. I m life. I am Gabriel s horn. But My throne is not empty as I sing to you right now in the blue of the morn. An ever lasting battle.
Peace is real, but oh, what to get there.
Mighty One who watches Israel, who hones the swords of silver, watch me, run me through with mercy metal partition me clean, or a day is too much. A lifetime without you is to miss out on privileges and wonders uncountable - and I have been counting, remembering your song of abdomen, my palm against your Solomon. The goodness taunts me and I wonder if they miss me too, or reel and wish God would quit sending them after me - she understands her hell so much, let her have it. Let the dumb have their beautiful words, their Steinbeck s and Kennedy s, if that s what so soothes them. Let them name their doggies after Hemingway s boat.