Can I dream about moon walking on the edge of the world, and falling in a love bigger than the word, pouring my passion on sewing the earth, one day with him arm in arm we’ll stand, but let’s mend this first, and put ourselves on hold for a minute and change the world for eternity. can we romance in picking up the pieces of broken lives, and be complete when we gaze in orphans eyes, completely broken.
Broken when we look at our hands and find them numb from green presidents, and so callused from pride that bruised hands are as casual as common sense, hardened by constantly taking with selfish precedence. We could wave at that homeless man, darkened eyes face in his hands, smile and say i prayed for you again, the rolled down window welcomes the breeze, and rustles some plastic bags with groceries. your hands forgot to release..
One day if God allows there to be, can your heart cry while your eyes see, the invisible yet blatant reality of the love that whispers in our pleasured disease, the love that moves yet makes you still, like a heavenly teapot poured and made a spill, and stained the whole world in red, that even callused chaffed hands are crimson instead.
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