Finding Refuge

FINDING REFUGE

Universal Refugees Finding Refuge Eternal & Everlasting (UR FREE)

Written 8/24/18-8/25/18

Part 1

We are completely open before God, so we might as well tell eachother’s stories. And I can’t calculate how many bods have trod this stage plot before me. So I’m gonna try before I die to use my minutes wisely before the time expires me.

I want to spit this hit list out so hot and so fast, that it warms up an entire chilly room filled with stone cold hearts at last. To have heard the crowd go with the plot twists and crash, as it forms the wire around this silly tomb we’ve killed for, alone and old, which starts to pass.

To make you wish you could look back, as the verses turned burn with desire to see them in papered stacks. But relax. Sit back. Counteract that negativity with which the world wants to interact, pushing us to always fuss and be in a rush. Close your eyes and hear it hush. Realize we worry way too much. Open eyes see we hurry way too much. That’s why our memories are blurry, or all too often a crutch. Be the character you’d fall in love with or root for in the movie. Be the one fortunate son, or the one playing double Dutch like a cutie.

So sue me, if you’d be the kind to, but let me remind you that love is my only richness, kindness is my entire wish list, and I still want to spit this hit list, but I get this sense among senses that something as intense as eternity doesn’t give a shit about financial security, or perceived maturity. The universe wants to be our chosen refuge. Our sturdy perch. Our resonant frequency. Our be all end all of human interaction with the elements. Our desired destination. The people in the closest seats that we see, the only safe place we’ll ever need to see, and never need to leave. But believe you me, if I ever need to grieve, which is inevitable in the veritable game that we breathe, let me be free as the universe’s refugee.

Part II

So I acknowledge that I am open before God, telling poetic stories from another bod to trod this stage plot before me. My home is both wherever I roam, and the unknown in store see. You and I, countless others who’ve already leapt to the sky, men, women, and too many children with no cause to approve, or applause from even a few who’ve come to die.

We are each, we are all, looking to be tree climbers and spot finders, nest makers and bliss grinders, each with a lot to use, tired of insanity being referred to as vanity, in need of constant reminders that God is the refuge. The one within and above. So, you can think of God as the hugest imaginable love. A love so big, and with arms so wide, it’s the catcher in the rye, almost always looking bushy-tailed and bright-eyed, other than when we’ve mistaken anything worldwide for our refuge.

We are universal refugees in search of a home to choose. And that whole in our lives which fills the hole in our lives, which drives our treasures, talents, and times, everything we do, the way everything survives, the way husbands continue to love wives, and the joy in all loving relationship for which we strive. The voice that says keep going when you’re already knowing the pain of being alive, not yet knowing the pain in having to die, or in simply giving up from a zillion reasons why.

All of it, together, and many more, are the exact same shape as the hole fill that you’re looking for.

The key is the refuge, and the refuge is the key, and believe you me, once you’ve seen the key unlock everything someone was destined to be, you’ll never look the same way at a foreign refugee. You’ll understand that everyone has a homeland, and longs to be free, everyone has some sort of love and will have to grieve. Everyone has stories they adore and believe. So, if you only remember one thing before you leave, tonight let it be, that there but for the grace and grit in life, we each fight different fights, we each have different perceptions of rights, we each board separate flights, but we are all dust from the stars that twinkle our nights, trusting that love bends bars and sets our sights, breathes life into us, and is our refuge in light.

Part III

I refuse to look at a refugee looking for refuge as refuse. We are all garbage in a way, but we are also golden roads who will give engraved stays to a well paved way. So I’ll look for the gold in everyone’s eyes every day. The flecks that give constant checks for responses to light. That’s the stuff that keeps me up at night. Who have I been a refuge for, and who has been a refuge for me? Have I used the love I’ve been given and striven to give back a huger pour?

Have I aided someone, who will be a help to someone, who will assist someone, who will provide refuge for the one who initially provided the aid? Have I allowed strangers, in so doing angels, to have remained and stayed beneath the shade of trees I’ve been entrusted to care? Am I creating safe spaces, and running in so many races, it creates refuges everywhere?

That’s the dare. That’s the test. That’s the issue. That’s the challenge.

To repair, pay forward when blessed, never misuse the talents or provisions the visions give us. Rather live up to the fact that in order to remain intact, we must seek refuge, be refuge, love, and give back. That’s how we can step to the plate, however early or late, knowing that love bats last.

Some roses never announce their thorns, some mines never give up their diamonds, but the flowers and gems, our comfort zone warns, are what may lead us to stop trying. The day we stop trying to spy our eternal refuge in the sky, is the day we start dying. And it’s time we see, as universal refugees, on what we can trust and should be relying.

We can spend our lives thankful for the key which sets us free, unlocks our doors, and sends us flying, or be disappointed, ultimately, with false substitutes, who would leave we, eternally prying. It isn’t for my deciding. I am the poet who humbly and simply speaks the writing. Who stays up late at night trying. I am tired of lost talent, lost love, lost life, and a mighty bit frankly, thankfully alive, but I’ve grown quite tired of all the fighting.

We should live here and now like it would have been before the fall, back when none of us would have had a hole in our hearts, when the host would say ‘y’all gather round’, you’d be really astounded by truly meaning ALL, although the collective body has varied parts.

We are completely open before God, and tonight I’ve shared my story. One bod to trod this stage plot, along with a lot of others before me. Seek to be refined into refuge, aim to be a universal refugee who finds their way home, and don’t forget to look for the gold in everyone’s eyes, every day, and every place that you roam.

.

.

.

.

.

#photography #instapics #photographersofig #pictures #artistic #creative #creation #writersofig #writerswrite #writersofinstagram #writinglife #wordgasm #words #selfpublishing #sidewayseightprojects

#poet #poets #poem #poems #poetry #poetsofinstagram #poetsofig #poetrycommunity #poetryisnotdead #poemsofinstagram #dailypoems #micropoems #poetrydaily #poetry_addicts #poemsporn

About SIDEWAYS EIGHT

Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s