Back to Work On The Eighth

For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth. Job 19:25

crying out for mercy

begging for safe passage

facing inwards at a cleft in the rock

a bipolar fork in the road

a toll booth of decision

feeling my way beneath the covers

a stark molestation of truth

a harassment of veracity

a peeping tom of creation

a stark perversion of reason and logic

a double edged sword dull on one edge, sharp on the other

cut me and heal me both my brother

time irrelevant

mercy weighed

nothing said and everything prayed

i dare to interrogate the sea

questioning the tide

tugging at the collar of the moon

having the audacity to put the sun itself under a spotlight

stealing winter's coat

wrapping it around summer's throat

my life a spectacle

that which is forsaken piled high in a trash receptacle

promising below heaven

swearing above hell

climbing the steep steps of the watchtower to ring my cross-examining soul's bell

audacity to summons both day and night

in my arrogant, demanding quest to pass by what is wrong and hold steadfast to what is right

on the worn pulpit of the weary sermonner

punctuated by the bold seed of a tiny determiner

it matters not

only that i accept that he and he alone holds the key

helping the blind to see

and me to be who i'm meant to be

wanting to know why he allowed everything to be taken from me

in an enlightening  profession of faith

daring to believe what the good book saith

knowing that my creator returned to work on the eighth

Author's Note

"But there is a spirit in a man, the breath of the Almighty, that gives him understanding. It is not only the old who are wise, or the elderly who understand justice." Job 32:8-9