I am a collector of words, a hoarder of fractured phrases.
I scribble in the margins of my life words wild and wonderful that shout a divine “wow.”
Other words I grind down fine as they seep into my belly, lubricated by tears.
Some words roll off my tongue, like gold threads of morning light:
and Camelot days.
Other words stop at my teeth, choke the air right out of me, saved at the frayed edge of my life where tension lives:
My linguistic calisthenics and mad manipulation are not just a benign desire to create, but an insatiable desire to find the right label to organize this messy mind, this muddled life.
To form this twisting and turning earthbound into everliving everafters—
thoughts that matter,
truths that stand.
passion outpoured, and
“Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart”
(the inside and the outside of my mind’s mulling)
“be acceptable in Your sight,”
(pleasing, lovely, thoughtful, and honest)
“O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.”
(my Rescuer, my sustaining One, the Hearer of my wandering heart.)