(Sic) Flo

Thinking to myself,

how sometimes I can just get so (sic) of myself,

so pour me out like spirits soaked in the earth,

put my wants up on the shelf,

re-aling to realise who's sitting upon the throne,

help this vessel's blood vessels not to pop under pressure..

pressure...precious in Your sight are those who live, breathe,

and die, making you their true delight.

Now I can't quite remember what was pressing me so intently away from Thee,

ah but what a testimony, of a lover's story that you didn't just run away from me.

I'm a harlot at best, left unpaid for my misdeeds and soiled in my old attire.

Yet no more, no more.

Temptation coming from within,

with these eyes serving as isles,

seemingly shipwrecked and wild...

Yet here You stand faithfully,

with every rise and break of the waters of my soul,

leaving you with waves to walk on.

Yet your demeanor stays calm,

You change not in the storm,

anchoring me down,

anchoring me home.

 

I keep on writing hoping to tap into some (sic) flo,

hoping to vomit up enough of the right words to finally be satisfied,

only to find myself continually falling short with words left to describe You,

thinking that I have a leg to stand on with left to my own..

Yet You've never left me,

and I'll never have to remember what it is to be alone.

 

The only (sic) flo left to show is when Jah comes back again,

purging His body of sin like leaven,

the lukewarm being no more.

So let overflo of this mouth

and the meditation of my heart

be tranfixed on He who was, and is from the beginning,

who lives in the present and in the end,

for the lover of my soul

and the penman of my permanent residency.