out during the praise band's rehearsal
at The Anchor in Nashville, TN.
April 3, 2011
There were more than two. I saw two. There were four lights! There were many light bulbs. Strung. The ceiling of the church. Little “c.” They glowed yellow with light. Pale against the glorious sun pouring through the window like fresh, squeezed lemonade at the fair ground. One was grey. Dim. One wasn't needing to be replaced. It would have lit up any carousel. But the other was seen. By me. It is beautiful, He whispered, beautiful like the rest. It'd lost its glow. I want to shine again, I prayed. For You. I used to glow. I am greying like the clouds, green with silence before a tornado. Like the cold mist of rain, that covers my jeans, my shirt, my dollar-general-reddish hair. In April. I want to be the tiny rays of warmth propelling through fluffy peek holes. There were two lights. I hugged the different. One. My heart understood its pumping valve of electricity, leaking before reaching filament. Turn me. Turn me. Turn me. I'm sitting on the fake bear with eyes that never shut and a fish in his mouth. Turn me. Back on. I'm so in love with You. The brightest light bulb, smells the roses. I'll mixed-up what I like. Born a lightbulb. Strung from the ceiling of the Church. There were more than two. I saw one.
0 comments:
Post a Comment