Krissy Mosley Ministries

Blood-letting
Through tears
That will not pray
Even-tides

Seek
Home
Seek
God

Seek
Friend
Seek
Help

Seep through stainless altars
Drowning in the morning
Only to do it all again

Image By Uriah Mosley, words by Krissy Mosley 2017

Once we were strangers.

Little ships in the dark.

Trying to name light

– it just is.

Dare I say, a mothers’ recovery. Embarking on the empty seat. I sit down as the little girl who desires the sanctuary. I never wanted to leave it. When the music stops, and the preaching ceased.

I am a girl wanting this place to be home. To prop my tired feet. Rest the strain in my neck. Relinquish the wounds in their various stages. To bleed upon a prayer, only the saints would hear. To know the universe has not forgotten my name. Then and only then I’d come alive.

As if being real is one-half of the transformation. The other conquest is to know it, should another lifetime come and go. I’d still be a writer, after operating on secular things in the dark. I know writing is the turmoil I’ve put my soul through. Nevertheless, it is the one thing whether stranded or bedridden or even now as my quiver is full of children I must write.

To withhold such a flame; would be treacherous severing interpolate faucets that make the ticks work. I’ve seen her in action exploding on the inside, her voice unheard, uninterpreted. Succumbing to vast seas of other voices but unable to express – interruptions of her own.

Krissy Mosley 2016

I am loved
I am evolving

I am cultivating greatness within
I am accepting a higher call
I am accepting my higher self

I am here to expand
I am here to enjoy
I am here to smile
I am here to be free
I am here to laugh
I am here to reach
I am here to fly

Krissy Mosley 2016

Staying the river, unlike man whose plans are merely passing
But to touch everlasting joy.
A new language hailing the souls of darker paths.
Under tongs into precious palettes.

Freedom has nothing to do with winning the race
Rather everything with losing the battle and finding
More of what was lost,

The very voyage of aligning wounds and hurts together
Bonds upon chains, salve upon slave
A reservoir where souls are safe,
A place, I can call home.

Kristina Neal-Mosley 2016