cirrus, alto stratus, cumulus.
You taught me to look up
when the ground holds my attention.
The sound of a jet blisters the air
too fast for the eye to see.
But clouds are shapes
waiting for translation.
When the news I hear
delivers with it a yoke of injustice
on the weight of dread,
I look for a bird to
trace my piece of sky.
It is not for me to carry such loads.
It is not for me to bear the outcomes
of every eventuality
waiting to happen.
No, I spread myself into the sky, wide.
I feel the whole of me captured, up.
You carried the pain
with the blood, sweat and tears you shed
one deeper than dark day.
And you carry it still.
Lift me through the cirrostratus
where clouds ephemeral wisp my worries
into dissipated blue.
I will grow with my soul into
the spacious skies of grace -
Miracles are waiting.
Jenneth Graser
#write31days
Day 12 Prompt - sky
Artist - Ken Bushe
Listen to Fly - Jason Upton
Beautiful reflective poetic prayer! I love these lines especially:
ReplyDelete"Lift me through the cirrostratus
where clouds ephemeral wisp my worries
into dissipated blue.
I will grow with my soul into
the spacious skies of grace"
They remind me to keep my gaze skywards, to lift my soul instead of listing to downcast. Thank you, Jenneth, your words are a precious gift. Bless you, friend. xo
Dear Joy, thank you so much for your gracious encouragement! I am blessed by your warmth. Many blessings my friend, <3
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