Sunday, August 21, 2011

knowing my language



my voice muttered through

the realms of cluttered air

I could say

anything in

the privacy of my mind

without the sound

of throat and

distracted tones

I cried real things suppressed 

and confessed my

turmoil in silence

and quiet

burdens

there is not a peace i find

than here in

the chamber

of grace where you

hear me

and know the machinery

of my being

and every time I come and kneel

You make sense of

all that that I cannot say...













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