part ii. a perhaps, for little brother.
Jesus give me something to say, or Your Spirit to pray, or else take all the things You gave me and put them away. a bright gold coin in a pocket of dirt. a black book on the nightstand of the american family, never having been opened, afraid of what they might learn. for it seems every time i feel pressed to speak i can't find Your wisdom or else i'm checking my head for the dried fruit of an old life. 'i know it's nothing new, but won't you have a bite? our tastes aren't much alike, but i know that three years ago i thought it rather nice!' and oh little brother, you're still just a little brother! so much that whenever we share words you shine with excitement, and i remain calm, hiding the most dreadful thoughts. 'it's just another china cup, pulled off a shelf of longing. made to dissapoint with it's bitter emptiness. to rattle the teeth on it's cold, hard rim upon meeting your eager lips. He can save you from it! if only you would let Him.
but perhaps i am mistaken.
perhaps you found her at the end of the hottest desert, with the lightest of cotton spinning over her hips. her soft mouth open in laughter, offering your camels water.
perhaps this is a manifestation, some stitch on the dress you will wear before the Father.
perhaps i will be the first to dance with an overwhelming joy on the night of your wedding, and the first to rejoice with news of your blessing, little brother.
but perhaps i am mistaken.
perhaps you found her at the end of the hottest desert, with the lightest of cotton spinning over her hips. her soft mouth open in laughter, offering your camels water.
perhaps this is a manifestation, some stitch on the dress you will wear before the Father.
perhaps i will be the first to dance with an overwhelming joy on the night of your wedding, and the first to rejoice with news of your blessing, little brother.