Dear Pen,
Throwing water through the sky
sometimes I cry without any reason or any need
Yet the melodies of breathing loudly,
Ohay-Ohey ,
This joy,
I find -hiding and seeking
underneath the journey of my purse
in the back alleys, off sidewalks
Ohay-Ohey,
I stoop, breaking through silence-halls in my mind
I empty all my
worries-sifting
Ohay-Ohey,
growing up in courage
we’ll meet again.
If I 
let her go
If I start to trust myself
If Joy is for Living-
laughter is my soul
then-delay the clock
and rest a little while.
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I saw one withered creature
begging for an extra soul.
After-all he had spent
fixing damaged hearts
I saw one, without hands and yet he managed to play
the only game he ever knew
and so he begged
his life away.
As a twiny-girl
I said I didn’t need to pray.
Broken tail-lights
all the worlds afraid.
What a sight
to see with no eyes
and talk with handguns
it makes no sense,
and now,
all I do,
talking to the Sun…
She winked and I winked back.
Right in the sol of my lungs
we shattered our rest
to breathe
in a new wide sun
She’s a cooling-fire.
This ain’t it.
She swallowed a little more,
Slightly drowning in Mississippi’s River bed
it should of been holy
it should of rocked her to sleep
it should of taste like honey,
but now it was just sadly unpleasant
Pumping her legs further into the deep.
Salty-night came calling.
She wore her cotton purpled sash squares through each yard.
For I never saw a mother with such a discerning eye.
While the day withered from sunshine to bitter night.
For I never saw a mother feed the dead.
In her kitchen with each tool and recipe,
sweeping rounded pipes of potted meat
For I never saw a mother with such a piercing look
tumbling in and out of oven-soot.
Her humbled feet grounded by the gardens leaves,
just to sing a mumbled tune.
Ah- if that mother’s son could only breathe
For I never saw a mother feed the dead,
with such a discerning eye.
Dangerously happy,
flying with fireflies
And fiery-winds,
Soaring above,Sun’s mindful speed
Beyond thee anchored
wine stained doors
pass that “Great Abyss”
If ever I could hold one prickly round star
but for a moment,
touch a holy-thing.
Krissy Mosley Ministries 