You want certain words and are indifferent or exasperated at the ones that I’ve been given. I am no audience but a waiting wellspring with seed. There is no dark that owns my name, no shadow that captures my attention or heart, no day other than the return of God for which I yearn.

Understandable all. Certainly my choice, my fault, my greatest and wildest hope. That God remembers and calls my name on the day before the valley of decision. For what purpose other than this acknowledgement have I sought? For what moment other than presence in the sight of God have I yearned.

To that last step I fight. To that last rung I climb suspending the weight of all my worlds, none in vain only those of real thought and anguish felt. Gone to wash the rebuked notions of norm. Into quake my feet have fallen only now remembering the stance upon Ages Rock. Steady feet for which I am yearning.

Washed away, sins of remembrance and recrimination to be led to reconciliation with Almighty. What second hand whispers shall cherish I? What tears having been shed shall be recovered? What morning into whose dawn I rear shall lure me away from the call upon my yearning heart?

No dreams but hope. No fault but the mistakes twice made. Into forgiveness I dive looking to forget those I have failed in releasing. To peace not my wild, brutal heart and conspiratorial misgiving. Relieved to let each passing regret flow downstream and the weight of slights retained follow yearn for the Prince of Peace.