At critical points, his soul was held in derision.
He kept his case with God; man will massacre you.
In death, I hope to cherish those scars, to live while dying, to adore while running.
It should be easy, shouldn’t it: life under rulership, thoughts laid out, obedience made mandatory.
Peace to granny, to have lived broken, to make alive pain as an art.
Painting as we do. Strife in David. Mastery in Elijah. Ownership in Elisha.
Take me home: “Be careful of the language.”
Pavement tenets, softer adjustments, the Church shall survive.
So slanted, arise as a thought, we celebrate the first martyr.
In speaking to one side, we subtly alienate the other. I wonder what apostles did; indeed, a hint of sarcasm, to include bark and branches; an intricate dialogue with the readers.
Time to live. Time to explore. We reexamine the roots.
I was a child and I’d listened.
I feel one, an acute spirit, a flippant tongue.
Only one life, we presume.
Fragments in awareness, split asunder, yanked into focus.
It will be read.
