Terrain

It comes and dials worry into his soul. There’s a travel faster than the speed of light and he feels it revving up upon the four chambers of his heart. They work simultaneously to produce the action of a man who is frightened and wants to flee from the confounding pressures of the rainy sky. His mind is a basin dry from stories and laughter. Around its edge is the salty portions of unclaimed gratefulness, and a volunteering to understand that he lost someone he wanted to know a little deeper.

She sat in the marvel of the screen with intimate focus because the assignment was due. She was his type- the one unphased and the one who needed work to be done. She was an appropriate age- a student, he supposes under the conditions to become a more advanced Her. His heart beats for a reason and it speeds up when he does something that impresses upon that it’s time or else it’ll be too late.

Don’t let her walk away. There are too many terrains for the soul to forget its original birth. Weather compounds the need for love to work now or else he’ll sit in the dark and the cold will break the bones of the young one. He’ll only live once.

Politics is the saline to a structural thirst that makes my spine sit up straight- the ladder that shouldn’t get longer without us on it, but it nevertheless is the ladder that won’t be climbable if we don’t get on it. I’m trying to climb on mine and I determine that it needs to be anchored with the root of a heavenly foundation- the one that will keep me climbing because frankly, I’m on, and it hurts looking down. Perhaps reaching Heaven then, is the journey going back down and upon arrival, I’ll shake His hand with a grip that was made firm by climbing for so long, but with tears that I’m walking again on the terrain that knew me first.

Trapezoid

The moment I chose to look back, I saw its edge fixating on my mortal weakness. It bent among the trees when I used my speed but it honed in on my flesh. It didn’t smell blood yet, but it knew it could create it. The trapezoid jeers its chase into my ribs. I leak blood that whimpers in the pool spilled upon the ground of enrichingly paved trails. But now something has happened. I fall and present no form of strength. The breath leaves and the muscles cannot contract. The trapezoid has done its job. I lose my odd shape and regulation for more time. There was no defense from that trapezoid and running away is what caused me to panic. Love screams to find its master, but I lie in red warmth, a liquid that’s thick and dyed in the fixture of Satan’s attempt to steal me away from life. Will there be a medic available to restore my vital signs or will the transport to the hospital be a bumpy ride toward everlasting life?

I feel His eyes gaze upon my instinctive soul- the very nature within me that knows right from wrong and God from god. My body feels the reviving pressure of chest compressions rocking my sternum and jolting my remaining blood into my brain. My spirit is more noticeable- with my physical presence nullified through trauma, I remain who I am for the moment. It’s time for my spirit to give me what’s due. I am an invisible air without protons or electrons and am not a contributor to the properties of oxygen. I am gone into a realm that is solemn but solidly fixated with a power that invites me. He is Lord. I am child. He will take me when I’m ready. But before then, they feel my pulse and see me breathing. I open my eyes.