Cannot walk outside the skin and counsel the hand of time. Trying to swim upstream sidestroke while breaking branches with molars. Feet on the outside of my socks and shoes. Nosebleeds from the pressures of thought and concrete. These are the days when men are supposed to pray, kneel and acquiesce to the guiding Hand of God.

Standing looking through unfelled tears. Expecting close proceedings where judges freed by the rote of unwilling souls express the sanity of the Divine. Into the well of misbehavior we counsel ourselves silly. With slow steady stares our smiles guide the fruitful to delivery. There is no escalator for these branches must be ascended to perch with view across the majesty.

Into the inglorious mist of my own regard. Gleaning meanings and sustenance from the Bread beyond control of the minutes and memories. Beyond my recall, I fell into the comfort of God’s intention and plan for my existence. With hope the promise came as planned and twice as fast as anticipation’s hunger.

Wiggle, fiddle and shake. Two handfuls of acrimony and sin, I leave before the rock of remaking. Worries strewn along the path to priesthood. Departing from footsteps cast about in mud and earthquake on shaky ground. Perfectly honed by the shaping of reason outside of definition. Into the arms of Almighty I plunge knowing that our paths cross at my relinquished grasp.

What hope has man bridled by the limits of mortality? What forever may be seen except in imaginary days and nights? What prime for pump to bring the waters of life that come from beyond tomorrow? How unhappy the resolve of man held in the clutches of time and the vast passing sands of a world beyond escaping? Joy in the treasures wept.