Take me down to the river,
where eternity flows.
My prayers dangle
over the edge,
and are carried
to the sea.
Why is the ocean vast?
Why does it bend the horizon?
Oh, little metaphor
of the universe,
lay your tides
over and over
like a meditation.
Oh, currents within,
correct my course,
couch my requests
and praises into
your endless soundings.
Dear God, I bow at Your river
to swim in Your ocean.
Length of days.
Stretched desire
thin. A thin slice
of passion for the
lost connection
with You.
Hurried, distracted,
brink of brick on brick
and the mortar between.
Where are You?
Do You see us?
Do you see me
behind this wall
of mine?
This thick skinned
membrane, memory
brained elocution
where words fence
me in, and attempt
to keep distance
from Your editing.
Come, check my
cobbled diction.
Free this sentence,
this self-relying status
of trying to figure
things out.
Help me to humbly
figure You,
To read You word for word.
Gerald the Writer 