Grace

Grace is new­ness. It’s one of those moments that just has it’s own rhythm and which lit­er­ally caused my heart to skip beats. I’m still here and I find that I need grace endlessly.

Grace

Stones…rocks…tributaries and muck…

These are smooth stones, jagged rocky rela­tions
and wasted ener­gies
These are ducks among swans
Water flows care­lessly off their backs
“I have no vested inter­est in that…“
These are their words

Early birds arise
Only at wills and tes­ta­ments
Blood thick as water is gath­er­ing mos­qui­toes
The unin­vited imbibed at her wake
it was a cer­ti­fied
Rau­cous turned legend

Stones are slip­pery friends
They shift loy­al­ties
One is eas­ily appeased
Two are mis­in­formed
Three are no-shows
These were only lessons
Par for the course
Deaf cal­luses don’t com­pre­hend
Soft spots often feel overwhelmed

Rock is foun­da­tional
Found­ing fathers
obliv­i­ous to strain and stains
and name call­ing (or so they claim)
Become sirs
Need­less grandeur
Pent-up moth­ers
Solid with treach­er­ous sharp edges
become sojourn­ers of truth
safe only if there are run­ning shoes

(Sneak­ers are so imprac­ti­cally expensive)

I came bare­foot and bald
Lone fin­ger extended
Harder lessons
truth stream­ing
No begin­ning
Tues­day night prayer meet­ings
Wednes­day night youth meet­ings
Thurs­day night Bible stud­ies
Fri­day night deliv­er­ance ser­vices
Sat­ur­day morn­ing Sab­bath study
Sun­day morn’ and nightly wor­ship
No ending.…

Mon­days are for dig­ging urine holes
to a redemp­tion sing-along

There is a vision of fly­ing
But no, it is the real­ity of the fallen

Fail­ing…
Fly­ing…
Falling…
Cov­er­ing my face

Fail­ing…
Fly­ing…
Falling into grace

Copy­right © 2010, Tynisha C. Leon