Magic 8 Ball

Christmas Eve blistered feet
Weight on my hard shoulders
Walking on the side of a foreign motorway
Greeted with signs saying closed again
Thinking, if he knows my pain, where’d He go?
It takes time to repair the toes of feet
Walked in faith too small for too long
Low battery mode, torch light glows, on roadkill
As I lemon squeeze the blurry dreams I’m owed still
And in my negotiations with life I always add on extra for virtues like oat milk
I’m alone still, Rattling at the grief and a locked gate
Thunder crashes like a dropped plate
Hands become ghosts in front of my blotched face, it must have got late
So I stop straight and realise I can’t go the back the way that I came
And my oat cracker crumbs disappeared in the wind
And everything I know is gone
And My childish sobs become holy songs
Caught inside a choir of tears, as the electric storm’s fire appears
Falling on high from light years away
I hideaway but still he sees me
Still he sees me and greets me into great halls with marble floors
As I’m wading in mirrors of rainfall
And shaking God like a magic 8 ball, only to find he was never in there at all
Heaven resides in the last place I’d look
The last place I’d deem worthy
The last place I’d ever love
The temple is torn the captive is free
I find refuge in he who finds home in me

Something in the starry black
Arrests me like cardiac
The flood ruined the wallpaper
But underneath were artefacts, all along
Guess I must’ve fallen wrong
I’m everything I love and fear, all in one
What should I focus on
When everything I know is gone

Drowning in the Icelandic
Your clone except I’m right handed
I still remember when dad told me
The metaphor in the sky landed

I never got to say goodbye
A byproduct of by standing
I just hope you find family
I just hope your flight landed