Approaching whirlwind Will you alter me even more? Will you thrust me forth, Or cascade me into a Blundering collection of loss?
A shining hero Appeared to clear the debris. A profit prophet, Speaking in twisting tongues, Delivering only red.
They thought the land gave them the Signs the were so longing for. But, with the bursting of The Dam, the sheep were scattered Into the forests with the wolves.
The children of the Cornfield link their downy arms And ring the rings from Above, flattened by mischief, Celebrated as gospel.
My quickening pulse Charts a course across dreamlands, My eyes scrape over Landscapes projected against The inside of my eyelids.
Kneeling towards the east Giving time and honesty, Giving all moments, In conversation that lingers Longer upon my tongue than a lie.
I think it’s a garden, A green lawn inviting the birds, Nesting within the branches And I think it’s vital moss With thankful palms upward.
I think it’s a wild jungle, With green hands reaching to heaven, Waving for God’s attention. As the clouds close in response He gives the ground even more life.
Step by step onward And a garden grows underfoot, Curling quick between My toes, wrapping around my Ankles and fruiting so sweet.
I stand by a gate, Which swings wildly in a wind. Rain smothers my face, Drowning me in the raging storm, Keeping me from the pathway.