Right next to yonder small fruit stand, the illusion of my control fizzles in the dying embers of my self-dependence. Could not think nor blink fast enough to see the fuselage lost in cavalcade of descending stars chasing the Sun’s departure. There were no limits to my exhaustion as the air I thought in reserve had already left canister. The ozone grasped at helium as it sought its place in the deep black envelope. Dancing done my legs quivering in humility as these feet planted firmly in my namesake.

Lord, I am just grateful to kneel before this throne. Thank you for time, time you’ve never needed but I feel is the only thing sustaining my participation in forgiveness. I tried to construct my own model, responsive to my tingling fingers, yet was already relieved before deployment. Some men cannot inspire nor convey the viral motivation typically wrought and manipulated with the ease of children. It is okay for in that failure I find the reality and relief of identity’s foretelling. Freedom comes free to those who never lost it. Standing on the wall in defense of things worthy in the voluntary loss of self.

Promise is a characteristic of our resilience in imago Dei. We endure, forgive, trust and change abiding upon its calculus and mastery of time. The entertaining scribblings meant for cathartic healing of the ego’s threat to rupture. Never really there but the victim hood misgivings of a man who mastered the foolhardy and ridiculous. Thinking dreams could reveal the hidden persona strong beyond means and application. It is good to master anything even if in irrelevance my only strength is weakness. Love cannot be lost having never been understood from outset. And in between the lines remains a myth that holds together worlds and everlasting.

So croon to the moon and don’t stop too soon that you cannot fall free of the capsule. Common to fall the ability of all sticking the landing the puzzle. Free to scream in the vacuum never overheard except by high flying bird as it observes the trajectory toward granite. Upon the rock I dive kept free and alive by the ages He contemplated my mishap. It’s okay, that in making me this way giving has always been easy. Taking it seems is hard on the dream and the pile of expectation’s inferno. The new growth yet to be seen, but on my anxious brow the droplets of moisture to dampen its soil in planting.