The white ceiling above me could cave in
the ground beneath my feet give way into a bottomless void
the deceptively still night could release other- realm horrors to torment my soul
cockroaches could crawl into my nostrils and embed their nests underneath my skin
My feet could choose to become immobile, my ability for motion robbed from me
these eyes I treasure could fail to open from one moment to the next
Open my mouth and whatever motion elicits no sound
Oh but how he loves me
inscribed in his veins when he hung up on that cross; every scar, every hurt, every blemish
my salvation.
So I walk out my door
Sleep beneath my ceiling in confidence
Tiptoe outside when the moon won’t show his face staring left, right, down, finally up
Galloping forward
Secure in the knowledge,
All IS WELL.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem