graceful

as i tiptoe along

this tightrope

extends beyond the corner

and i cannot see

trip and ye shall be picked up

doubt and ye shall be comforted

fly and ye shall join the heavens

in praise of this graceful life.

topple off the space provided and find

the rest.

there.

you are free to trust and push

show them the cloth

you are

cut

from.

grace.

it is too much, always.

i never deserve it

i always belittle it

he brings it as he has never failed to do.

lead me blind, farther than i have been before

trip with me

we'll turn it into a skip

and jump into your arms

they follow me and are ahead of me

in the constant questioning.

this morning always starts with darkness of black city streets 

but the sun rises.

steady and faithful.

you rise.

through all the choices i make to contrary your grace.

when i shout out you shout back

and i love you for it.

please do not leave me, i am weak.

in your strength.

i need you god

i need your grace to walk.

hand written notes

are a dying breed.

the flow of the pen

actual INK on a paper

the care and time taken to pick out the card

from your stash at home.

the envelope arrives in the mail

oh!

what surprise!

it is not junk or a bill

a magazine you won't read or a flyer for pizza.

it it a note

hand written

for me.

nearly extinct but not quite

because thoughtfulness is not

dead yet.

i intend to write more notes.  always.

the itch

to run and hide

to speak real loud

throw caution to the wind and just

give in

follow whatever it is that i want to do

without thinking.

or sometimes, when the mood is right

to look left and back to see

that the itch is fine and good

and

GO!

this feeling of wildness comes over me, this abandon to all things polite and boring.

to run into the unknown and relish it, envelop the minutes without hesitation.

for tonight is the night i want to dance long and loud and crazy and well

without regret.

it is not bad or ugly or wrong.

it is of beauty and truth that the things we can take, the things we can touch are of no consequence in the end.

only that which comes from within.

moroni

only 8am and it's 27 C, which is close to 81F folks.  

moroni.

the word came to me on a bike ride and i couldn't get it out of my head.  i didn't even know what it was!  so i looked it up, and several spellings later i am ridding the poem about "...midnight air sinking into my lungs" and "floating under a treetop roof".  

silly.

moroni, the capital of grande comore off the coast of mozambique on the other hand, does not mess around.

um hm.

maybe i should write about things that matter, i tell myself.

some of the only information i could find about the island is here.  sounds captivating and gruff.  almost unfriendly in the most beautiful of ways.  i feel limited in my geographical knowledge, which limits my power.  because i do have power.  we all do.  but what am i doing with it?

this morning in moroni i can only imagine what the people there awoke to, a day full of hard work?  political strife?  heat, stress, exhaustion, fear and not enough food?  again?  beauty and pain as far as the eye can see?

morose

magnificent

misfortune

merry

muted 

moroni.

another place i do not know but want to try.

february

sometimes

when you feel just

blah

you remember the way you felt when you tossed the covers aside that morning.

and that feels good.

it feels better.

i want to live the

fresh

zest

sustenance 

each blah,

i want to savor the sunshine and the breeze and a friend to talk to who is listening.

i want to draw with chalk on the sidewalk for no reason and take my time.  i want to love what i do and who i have become and accept the things people compliment me on.

i want to work so hard on myself that i never stop

but stop

to stop

and see

this moment.

hope

opportunities,

grace.

pull back those covers, there is so much more.

desperation

there is nothing

so

refreshing

as true

desperation.

for you

for truth

love

forgiveness

grace

peace

moving on

moving forward.

i am getting over this stuck

rut

place of similarity

of over

a 

year

over

a

lifetime

of

wrongness.

done shoving a square peg into

a round hole.  like a frustrated toddler with a difficult puzzle piece.  

i am giving the pieces back to you father.

the pieces of my puzzleheart.

i am 

i am

desperate for this breath of fresh breath that you have given me

i take it with joy!

home at myself, home at you, home at heaven's window.

your love, the greatest risk of all gave me this hope

anew.

an old.

love is coming.

i will wait for it.

you have made me to wait for it, created me for this struggle.  i pull in.

desperate.  loving your freshness, your life.  

love.