Praying in my Native Language


Rampant & Golden

The man bid us stand
and started speaking,
but I did not hear words,
no nouns or pronouns
or adjectives or verbs but
pushes and pulls
and that feeling you get
when you wake up from
a confusing dream
and the familiarity of
the textures and sounds
and smells of your home
floods you with clarity,
that feeling of being found.
There were no ends or
beginnings to his sentences,
only an ebbing of the thick air
charged with grace, where
every Amen from every mouth
was a ripple vibrating
from one consciousness
to the next.

My eyes were closed
and the images came.
I finally pinpointed
to the exact square inch
the source of my pain
and saw the color
of the future that felt
natural and not filtered
through the pixels of
a culture that fits who I am
only if I suck it in a little

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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