My lord, my lord, my lord!
He calls me by the thunder,
The timbre of his voice still
Resonating in my bones.
I sanctify myself in his waters,
Wading earnestly into his depths.
His hands have touched my soul
And readied me to receive him.
I saw him at the midnight hour,
Felt his power wash over me.
My heart is heavy with doubt.
I worry, is it wrong to love him?
He takes my hand and leads it
Over this world he carries,
Letting me feel every mountain,
Every valley, and every hill.
I leave no stone unturned,
No lake undisturbed,
No ocean calm.
He tells me that I am home.
YOU ARE READING
In Lieu of the Expressionist
PoetryInfluenced by art, mythology, folklore, and alternative expressions, these poems are the culmination of growth over three years. Having had the chance the participate in a creative writing mentorship program, win an award (National Gold Medal in Poe...
