Staying the river, unlike man whose plans are merely passing
But to touch everlasting joy.
A new language hailing the souls of darker paths.
Under tongs into precious palettes.
Freedom has nothing to do with winning the race
Rather everything with losing the battle and finding
More of what was lost,
The very voyage of aligning wounds and hurts together
Bonds upon chains, salve upon slave
A reservoir where souls are safe,
A place, I can call home.
Kristina Neal-Mosley 2016
Autumn had finally brought summer’s thrashing massacre to a halt. To appreciate longer flickering nights of cooler winds. As if two warriors had finally come to one agreement. The sky would round itself closer to us.
Our bodies recuperating from the previous feat. Bronzing our skins with a radiated glow. Looking at daylight, permeated a well-being beyond death or the desire of it. She imagined a life just as rich as the rivers had souls and lungs breathing out convocation with cadence and song.
Krissy Mosley 2016
When we are overwhelmed with safety for our physical bodies, we are seeking refuge. Loneliness steps into a grip, those despairing moments.
Demanding bisque for healing.
Unattended ears pressing toward the mark.
Re- gathering the daughters of giant men.
Mother God, our light.
Discern our direction.
Father God, my Baba.
Our times, our night.
Strive again with us.
Come, Oh Baba, find common ground
I pray that you feel,
Within this fragment
Dividing the waters above
Decimal of waters times waters
Bobbing in the heartless matter
Again shall you breathe the breath of life
Sinew upon sinew
Dash upon dash
Ground over troubled findings
life to live again
Life to discern our direction
Mother God, our light
Father God, my Baba
Our times, our night