rejoice

this life
this mire
no, wait,
this pilgramage.

my praise
my pains
my hopes
knowing they will fall on good ears
they are whispered,
faithlessly, at the top of my lungs.

the body
the blood
the slain lamb
taken with a plea for help,
healing and forgiveness
in a moment of remembrance
then forgotten.


suffering
sorrow
the cursed aftertaste of the fall
causes me to see.
debilitated,
i am doubled over,
trusting grace.


clinging to the bosom,
hiding in the rock,
seeking that great shelter,
with the wind at my face
i will rejoice,
i must rejoice.