john seventeen.

There is something about sitting in a circle man to my left
woman to my right,
chairs, couches, flooooor, legs crossed
leaned back & eyes closed.
feel the leather bible upon your exposed knee as
you tuck the skirt underneath
and pull out the INK pin to write
the feelings, words, longing that dances across the
back of your eyelids
as
someone, one of some, pulls out the wooden and the strings
to strike the chords of
want want want within each little one, little child,
unborn kings and queens - still resting in the wombs of
the prophecies yet fulfilled
and some sing, harmony, good bad...
whispers... tongues of angels weave in and
out of this little body, church, family, little baby trinity
being one, as they are one...
or so we step into
even for a mere moment, a whisper of the unheard but still quite there
shout of Where This is Going
as the acoustics resound
a wild tempest rages on within and behind and inside
each muscle and skin
for
these are the moments when the tongues of fire
reach the doorrrrrr
but say, "my time has not yet come."
and we love, and long for love, and are love.
as LOVE steps into the room Himself, unmasked,
untamed, and very good
good
good
good to us.
but onlllllly to remind us of the Desire
as the music trails off like the light of a firefly
on a June evening,
and it's time for bed, or reality, or normalcy, or
8am... when really
we, the you's and i's just wishes
to keep it
stay
reach further
cry harder
touch IT and stay THERE perhaps
to continue in this great game of corporate, yet
quite alone hide and Seek.
letting our hands reach further into the Great Jar
of Mystery and
pull back
HE
WHO
HAS
PROMISED
TO
RETURN.