There, a cry was carried by the cold wind of one winter, on a bridge where the Hudson River lay underneath. It hid beneath the falling snow, beneath the noise—unseen, unheard. Tapping one’s cheekbone, piling up, making a tiny hill. A grave.
There was a note:
Detail image of Snowed, and Burnt, 2024
A man cried out looking up the sky, inviting the light to fall strike on a rock cut it in half, but no sound was heard. He then cried out to the sky again, calling the rain to fall like scorching fire burn growing weeds to dark gray ashes, but no voice was spoken.
There, a careless wind swiftly passing by. Tapping one’s lifeless eye. Sore and despair. Sad water drenched a dried eye. Eyes red. A fish jumps splashing salty tear. A frog squeaks laughing at a lonely eye. Eyes fall, fall on a shoulder. A defeated shoulder low heavy. A head down, down to a toe, down to a sole, eyes kisses the ground. Hear the ground whisper, “Hey, are you okay?”. left cheek muscle tip-toes. little smirk. Little, too little. But little is enough.
In the flick of time, a noise soft approached an eardrum. A sleepy head awakes, eyes open. A mouth opens slowly murmuring, muttering a few words. Up a head, up a shoulder, up an eye. Lift a numb finger upward. Stand still. Drag a hopeless step forward. Stand still. Fix an eye straight to a void. Fix an eye to the void that feasts the gaze of hope, the gaze of with, the gaze towards the heavens and the earths collide.
Worry not, for the glazing fire flaming swaying dancing in the abyss. The raging fire devours the hollow of yesterday, spits out the new life of today. Worry not, for the fire burns harder and stronger with the eyes fixed on it. On it, the fire is on it. The work has started, the good work has started that not one can fathom.
Now, less the breathless words but more the sound expectations for goodness. The goodness of the one who dwells in the highest place.
Snowed, and Burnt, 2024
There, a cry was carried by the cold wind of one winter, on a bridge where the Hudson River lay underneath. It hid beneath the falling snow, beneath the noise—unseen, unheard. Tapping one’s cheekbone, piling up, making a tiny hill. A grave.
There was a note:
Detail image of Snowed, and Burnt, 2024
A man cried out looking up the sky, inviting the light to fall strike on a rock cut it in half, but no sound was heard. He then cried out to the sky again, calling the rain to fall like scorching fire burn growing weeds to dark gray ashes, but no voice was spoken.
There, a careless wind swiftly passing by. Tapping one’s lifeless eye. Sore and despair. Sad water drenched a dried eye. Eyes red. A fish jumps splashing salty tear. A frog squeaks laughing at a lonely eye. Eyes fall, fall on a shoulder. A defeated shoulder low heavy. A head down, down to a toe, down to a sole, eyes kisses the ground. Hear the ground whisper, “Hey, are you okay?”. left cheek muscle tip-toes. little smirk. Little, too little. But little is enough.
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In the flick of time, a noise soft approached an eardrum. A sleepy head awakes, eyes open. A mouth opens slowly murmuring, muttering a few words. Up a head, up a shoulder, up an eye. Lift a numb finger upward. Stand still. Drag a hopeless step forward. Stand still. Fix an eye straight to a void. Fix an eye to the void that feasts the gaze of hope, the gaze of with, the gaze towards the heavens and the earths collide.
Detail image of Snowed, and Burnt, 2024
Detail image of A Pleasant Present, 2018
Worry not, for the glazing fire flaming swaying dancing in the abyss. The raging fire devours the hollow of yesterday, spits out the new life of today. Worry not, for the fire burns harder and stronger with the eyes fixed on it. On it, the fire is on it. The work has started, the good work has started that not one can fathom.
Now, less the breathless words but more the sound expectations for goodness.The goodness of the one who dwells in the highest place.
Detail image of A Pleasant Present, 2018
Like snow, layers of waiting pile up under that weight, warmth grow the warmth becomes fire the fire burns ablaze may the flame be a sacrifice a sweet-smelling fragrance of perseverance an incense rising toward the heaven
Like snow, layers of waiting pile up under that weight, warmth grow the warmth becomes fire the fire burns ablaze may the flame be a sacrifice a sweet-smelling fragrance of perseverance an incense rising toward the heaven
Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.
Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.
