Reception

Side streets, stop signs, buildings, condos…

All in my peripheral as I stare at this computer screen.

Calling my name,

Wanting my attention,

Trying to distract

Me from me.

From what my soul is speaking.

I must not,

I cannot.

So much depends upon this session—

Just my soul and me

Believing in the truths spoken.

 

When I stop and think,

The connection becomes

Severed:

I drift further from these words

And become

Locked into the essence

Of controlled thinking.

Thinking controlled by standards

And earthly perceptions,

Tainted.

 

It seems this small truth to writing

Is not so foreign.

It seems when I become disconnected from God,

All areas of my life become lifeless.

 

And so it remains

I am nothing more than a TV

Relying on reception to be.

Some assembly required…

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