Silver

the little place in me

where God lives

is pure silver, shining and gleaming

and everything that comes from that place

is pure, shining, gleaming and good

I watch it as it goes out

music, words, interactions, in utter amazement

it is a part of me, apart from me

it is the place where God lives

the rest of me is muck

sloshing with judgment, hate, and dissatisfaction

writhing with fear and blood red emptiness and need

and everything that comes from that place

is mess, frustration, empty

I watch it as it goes out

nagging, gossip, envy, with such sadness and loneliness

it is a part of me

it is me

so how can I get that pure solid silver

to coat and cover the mess within

how can I be more God

and less me

it’s not a task I can complete

nor a mountain I can climb

but it must be done unto me

brought to me in buckets, molten and burning

poured over and within

killing me

it will hurt and I resist

and it’s not if but when