When does this get easier?
When does this burning pit in my stomache fade?
And when does the loudness of my soul's stirring stop
Making me rage against the voices of loud men.
Of men just trying. Just trying to speak life.
I don't want to hear them.
I don't want to be anywhere that resembles this place of wrong-doing.
Every building I step into is some form of that vulgar disappointment.
Some reminder of the lack. of the fall. of the betrayal.
What am I looking for?
I don't know.
Not someone to speak at me.
Not a building with screens of words.
Not a production.
Not a stage.
Not a trendy meeting.
Not a thing of men.
But a place of God.
A place where we come to commune with Him.
I guess all of them are.
But I want more. I want different.
I can no longer bare this.
To learn and speak and read together.
A place where it doesn't fit into this world.
A place that earnestly tries to be basic.
Other people can want other things.
I yearn for the bare nakedness.
I have ached.
And will always ache for.
Literary. Unspoken. Realized. Heavenly. Good. Whispered. Here.
Give me something that feeds my soul.
Give me the bread of life.
I'm looking for something to stick to my bones.