أَعُوذُ بِٱللَّهِ مِنَ ٱلشَّيۡطَٰنِ ٱلرَّجِيمِ، بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

 

 

quietest of quietudes for those who sought and had their reaching turned to dust, before learning water mixes with it to make mud, rebuilding brick by brick that which the fierce shining sun bakes into firmness more firmly again. landslides carry down gently or roughly the foundation of anticipation, a test of His to see which slaves persevere versus drown within cascading waves of inevitability. can't recall how many times He made footing slip, conceptions and hopes burned away as vapor in sunlight, but...He makes me live still, keeps causing me to breathe, alveoli to fill and empty, a loop on repeat, oxygenation against any of my choices or judgments, so the means to mix again still held within these fingers: combining the dust of my deeds + the water from my ocean, whenever i have specks there to feel with, can fashion once again some mud to form with it a brick, lay it on the side of this road towards Tomorrow, day by day trying to build something beyond the limits imposed by yesterday and its loss and sorrow. hurrah, to be one still living, still tested to capacities cared not to have been given but thrust into the middle of, either shoulders made for lifting, or a chest made to carry longing, these echoes of mine are lifelong, one day iA their answer in your embrace i'll find in mirrored song