Twenty three,
half the number constitutive of my being and to this end, i'm in wonder of futures that still are a mystery. but i’ve seen milestones and bore cast stones that tarried journeys i yearned for. i recall my zeal, it’s entails, the motions in play with vivid details to be recounted. i guess aging not only has perks, problems abound in the valley i spoke of, my worn bones didn't always come alive. still, i found wisdom and grief altogether, where knowledge augmented with sorrow.
how did the sweet become bitter¿
i remember falling short from faltering faith, being numbered among the faint of heart. especially, when “coping” with phases: of fading friendships and tempered relations, even dreadful dreams of this world, it’s tragic end and yes, i mean apocalyptic dreams. dealing all the same, whence doubt lingered while dismal news of loved ones facing terminal tragedies had me daunted by fears, "dang, life's hard," i thought "if only i could escape to a parallel universe, sort sounds, figure things out." these, all these being burdens—baggage, for my head-space and my best days were temporal like the dew is for the morn. then, the antiphons i sang quieted as i retreated staying somewhere in the waiting. unbeknownst to me, all these aches were sketches by an Architect designing much of everything that entails me. finding love in poetic notes and whispers of hope from unfailing words, such as which never return void.
should've realized dark clouds never held back the Son from rising. "I Am not done with you yet, find comfort in this child." He said, so i let it be, resolute about the phrase “it's okay...it's okay not to be okay.”
Twenty four and still,
it’s okay. eleutheróō
contemplate how
two doubled to four.
being gleaned grape
unto vintage wine,
preserved for eternity.
snippets of the past year and i could've sworn my wrist wore watches saying otherwise, of these minutes that drained twenty and four hours of my life. writing too little for the much that counted when i should have, would have, can. maybe then i’d have twice the reservations of similar shortcomings for my future pasts, as has been the case since twelve.
it's like puzzles problematic to simpletons,
a day became a thousand years. and these
chapters changed as i read The Script,
memorized lines and saw the signs of the times, the end of the age.
trying, trying to live out my name,
believing the same,
rethinking these lanes i’d taken when
seasons tarried with pangs as they readied
the birth of finer prints and paintings,
for this canvas.
guess twenty four heartbeats brought me here, actually, i know they did but really, i should’ve died seven months ago—twenty-fold testimony. of walking valleys with shadows of death on the twenty third psalm to find myself home; at the table, with the royal priesthood, bowing among twenty and four elders to worship the ancient of days.
and today more than ever, i have twenty four reasons to keep The Testament, The Word of Truth and these words i often transcribe even unto my last breathe.
Yours truly,
Shirlin.
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