I Am a Sponge

saturating sadness, dolor drowning, whetting woe, sloshing sentiments, passion plunging, muddling mass. Lord, wring me Dry!  


I rock, I talk I sway, I pray I spin, I grin I wait, I meditate. I caress, I assess I sing, I swing I bless, I stress I nurse, I coerce. I dance, I prance I breathe, I seethe I bounce, I flounce I blunder, I thunder, “WILL THIS BABY EVER FALL ASLEEP?!”


Layers of meaning embrace my words,Keeping my spirit warm,From menacing bleakness,My soul gives them form. Sensual metaphors woven,From a lifetime of living,Sing broken ballads,Songs of forgiving. Healing often meansAllowing the self to break,Tears to heal,Poetry to awake. There is beauty in brokenness,Through the fissures of humility,Seep the verses of grace,Divine tranquility.


Unexpectedly, a typical tumble in the turbid monotony of the mundane, metamorphoses into a molting of denial, a moving manifestation of humility.   Hope spins in spirals, shooting sparks across my soul, granting me a glimpse of Grace.

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