prose, story

Doctor’s Yoke

“Doctor heal me!”

She cries out with desperation.

Yet when he asks her,

“How are you feeling, my dear?”

Her lips are sealed.

.

A doctor helps.

But how

If she restricts her speech?

If she conceals her inner cries?

If she assumes things to fall to place?

.

Whether or not the doctor asks

As long as no words pour,

Powerless he remains.

The expertise doesn’t matter.

.

But a doctor is patient.

He understands.

and hopes.

.

And under his breath, he swore.

“I will wait.”

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poetry, prose, religion

The Father is the greatest!

Breathe in!

One…two…three

Breathe out!

That easily, He commands

My worries to flee

Through my nostrils

Down towards the dirt on the ground

And with might I shook the earth

As I crushed all of them

While crystals fell from my face

Now, I claim nothing but victory

For with the Father, there is no defeat

And while the war inside me resumes

I predict my glorious return

Sword raised on one hand

And the free hand reaching for the heavens —

A gesture of joyful surrender

A taste of everlasting peace

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