Bloom

Sometimes the words–they just don’t come.
Mouth gaping, mind racing, my world’s washed in white….
All is a blank.

Finger poised over delete,
My fist is in my mouth
Lest my mouth contain my feet.

Father, even in this stillness,
I can scream so loud, standing lonely in a crowd.
Father, even when I’m trapped
I still find the room to fight. “I can do this, just–give me time.”

Time’s up.

God of Heaven,
God of earth,
I have had enough.

Bloom, Father, let me grow
Complete and holy in Your teachings,
Bloom, Father, I let go,
You alone can give me what I’m seeking.

So plant a seed, plant deep inside
Deep down where only secrets hide.
And sprout a longing, a love, a need
To be with the God in which I believe.

Let the page be blank, be open, pure.
And now, to mix my metaphors,
Bloom.