you are the quiet after the rain
you are the sea,
the still fragments reflecting the moonlight,
but sometimes you are the storm.
the wild, howling wind
we don't know where you come from,
or where you are going.
you are the sleep that comes with the dawn,
but other times you are the aches,
the anxiety that comes with the starless dark
sometimes you are the prodigal returning,
but other times you are the prodigal making a run for it.
sometimes the earth is full and bursting
and other times we are full and bursting with the fear
that whirls down from the ceiling fan above our beds.
but there's life life
in those bones bones
they are made of gold
they are not
your eyes are dripping with all the light
that wants to break out from underneath your skin
you are made of
of a life that wouldn't be held back
by a gravestone
if even death couldn't hold you back,
if all the darkness of the tomb couldn't keep you down,
how much less can your own mind keep you locked away?
it only will if you give it the keys, child.
there's more than that darkness,
there's more than that tomb.
there's life rattling that rib cage,
and there's glory scratching at that holy skin
these more than bones underneath.