Let it be love, and let love be…
kindness sister Krissy
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Reaching 1,000 supporters:
I’m amazed those who’ve stayed, those who’ve cheered me on. Added many words of value. Given much feedback. Cried and prayed I’d find my way. Loved me, in spaces that helped me grow. As a writer, a mother and simply little ole’ me. Thank you. We’ve reached 1,000 supporters -I just know the best is yet to come…
P.S. I sat my butt in the chair, and the words started pouring out -alive again.- kindness sister Krissy.
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Photo by Simon Matzinger on Pexels.com In many ways we dream almost golden, the thorns that might arise breaking the nightfall. beyond the need of intelligence or intellect. A flower unveiling petal by petal, knowingly, the day awaits us to the sweet looming light,
Soft timid blooming- press
turning the world around in a spec
that it is the earth’s kindness as she brings
icy lakes, black and white snow
mud piles on the road
journey attending,
as we go …
kindness sister Krissy
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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com -
Photo by Wendy van Zyl on Pexels.com It feels as if I am a cork bottle, on the blue wide open sea. Good things floating all around me. Why is it? Am I not floating? I have no control on which way the wind blows or the course my life seems to be…
but I do appreciate calming tidal waves, bouncing, boisterous spiced aromas drifting.
There’s a longing, to never be alone, another to one to be found hiding. In arms of something called home, something called -ones’ own.
Virtuous finding,
kindness sister Krissy
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Photo by Jill Wellington on Pexels.com All I want for Christmas is peace and safety for all humans.
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Pixabay.com
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Photo by Ivan Bertolazzi on Pexels.com Dear writers’ burnout, I’ve stepped lightly under your thumb. Ghastly, recording -jet-lag, blistered-sketched. Riding on fumes alone
alarming ping, the hum, the blow-
singed by the leak of my own.
Habitual crawling towards more white-paper,
the rugged red/table-legs of fire,
I no longer sit down- while oceans are bleeding
I no longer stroke black and white keys,
I no longer dig my heels into my wounds- so I let them…
I no longer key-up the engine
I can’t feel the motor-less hum
In that way, I play the frolicking multi colored peacock
feathering a pretentious prance.
In that way, I am a fool, foolishly
chewing up words/undigested at the red table
Come dine,
sit with me, til the smoke has cleared
and there will be words to write/mountains to climb
and there will be more…
I pray, that my hour of darkness does not cast her shadow
I pray, that you and I find a simple answer
I pray, your stay is not prolonged
In this note you’ll find your bags,
P.S. I’ve kept my pen.
kindness sister, Krissy
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while today is today, my mind might as well be a someday kinda brain, with all its’ trash-talking, ideas that be a load of crap in the morning, wannabe- hoping that its gonna be , and by then
I’m standing outside on checkered white curb,
with a muddy puddles of water
one-inch from my brown good-will suit.
On my way to the rest of my life
and a dark blue Sudan drives by
splashes rounds and rounds of puddles onto my good-clothes.
Now I’m heading home- telling myself
well’-there’s always tomorrow. 🙂
kindness sister Krissy
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Pixabay.com
Krissy Mosley Ministries 