Jungle

There is something that I love about a city,

And...

The way the hungry growl of buses snatches away any semblance of peace,

And in the parks,

The pigeons swoop and soar like pterodactyls.

​

The earth fights back;

Our bones are gold glitter and dust,

Formed of the stars above us and the 

Dirt deep deep beneath our feet. 

​

Frail, fragile, like those silver cobwebs.

One wrong wind and...

​

They say our limits are the path we are to walk upon,

And this dependence on

The God who rides upon the clouds,

Is altogether purposeful.

​

The world is a heaving sea and there is static between me

And heaven.

All I hold is cryptic letters and

The sigh of the wind.

​

It's ok to be broken,

To not have it together.

Ok to

Feel it all or

Nothing,

To meet with locked emotions or

Waterfalls and

If the day passes with just

Bookends of the sun

And all the pages blank

Or written in another tongue,

It's ok.

​

Remember, you are dust,

The glittering sort,

And small.

The world is tangled.

But watch,

The King is coming,

Humble and...

​

Somedays the breeze whispers louder 

Than the screech of sirens,

And the stars outshine

The city lights.