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The Fuel

A river runs through me.

My veins was once a dry creek over cracked ground as the rain poureth over me. The creek became a river wild as my blood now cold fresh water rushing through my body, crashing over rocks of shame and guilt. This repentant and forgiving soul birthed words through my lips. Chanting psalms, reciting prayers, O Lord have mercy on me.


Dry creek no more as the rush of river water flowed through the veins in my palms, writing cursive over empty pages. Tender moments of sweet weather and seasons of change alloyed the metals of my sorrows in my mind to the gold inside my soul. Writing love and grace with vermillion of faith inside my heart.


The cold water through my veins oxygenated the missing pieces in my ventricles from broken relationships. Molding me stronger as my hands kept writing life on these pages.


The wild river never stopped in current as it steadied on rushing through my body, with fervent desire to tell stories of once upon a time, long long ago, in a far away land. The cursive now fast and almost unreadable, as my veins rushed me physically to the computer, the keyboard, and I kept writing. 


No more dry creeks of blood, and drought no more. My river carried me to the ocean of words in my left and right hemisphere, flowing to the Euphrates. Focusing on the psalms, and now the Goliaths disappeared and my mind, cleared.


Writing rushed my blood, consecrating me with holy water out of the catastrophe of rain. Trouts swam in my belly, frogs jumped over the mitochondria of my cells. Sweet tunes of banjo of hymns sang me to wonder.


The grey clouds over my sunrise now pink and purple, with beauty for ashes. 


A river runs through me. Just write.  

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