One Breath

When I scratch my head

I'm digging through my dreads

 

standing at the crossroad

with the remaining of my journey left ahead

 

many words unspoken

so much left unsaid

 

to those who have gone down

into the compounded ground

 

where silence speaks with no sound

a place of certainty

I am bound to be

 

 left emotionally ripped and torn

between the pages that speak to me

scripturally and prophetically

 

the water is not clear

it has not settled

for it is still dirty

 

I reach up for a branch off a tree

holding it like a pencil

to stencil into to the soil

a note to my younger self

 

a time capsule to be left and found

by someone else

standing in the place I once knelt

 

the rusted hinges coming off of the door

that fell to the floor to be closed no more