The Dirge for Misplaced Maritimers

there's water in our bones
and though we be far from
sea and shore it beckons
to us across the prairies
to return to murmuring lullabies
and be rocked gently by
high tide and low tide;

there be water in our bones...

In my utmost being,
I desire You to enter,

Come in, open windows,
Swing back doors,

harrow heart's soil
to plant daisies,

Well up the Spring,
To tune my bones
and let them sing!

You wrote me a love letter
a while ago and I've been rereading,
at times meandering, but nowadays
with purpose, flesh out Your voice,
hear the Calm, and rest assured
in the cradle of Your words,
of, It'll be alright

I keep waking up into the face
of this reality, staring at me
with morphing face of terror,
pain, choas, but graced with
lines of love (which I see You drew)
and in my surprise, grab and
throw out the window of my
mind's bedroom

So I am rereading Your love letter,
the one You left me long ago,
and beside me, You read out
the Words that feed my soul,
strengthen heart roots
I find myself
standing outside
Your door

Before morning and the
light of day, we awaken
ourselves, and without delay
go out to pick up pearls

And in life's coves,
amongst weedy woes
we glean for ourselves -
pearls

Don't give me praise
but rather tell me,
is your soul fed?

my actions, these movements
are not to idolize self
but to feed your soul;
to build you up
and tear me down

this self-centered being
for too long a time
has, unawares, campaigned
to be queen of the castle
and you the dirty rascal

but no more, for in quest of
self, I die slowly, whither
to the soul and I lay
gasping

So my Father showed me
deny thy self, and pursue
the building up of others

so, are you being fed?

Father,

How profound is Your love for me
and yet the word "profound"
already appears cheap to these eyes
and I attempt to
cut the very words from a
soul that truly utters praise
upon exaltations layered
within hallelujahs to
a world set in boxes
and a black hearted self

Brimming, is what I am -
as a vessal that never
empties, by the Drawer
who holds me, dips me in,
fills me up

Overflowing, is what I am -
as a well that never runs dry,
I am filled day in and out
by the Spring that bubbles
deep within

In You is my true voice;

none else can relate
to this noise; Turn
to this sister,
or that sister, but my words,
their depths won't register;
my people cannot understand
on what grounds my feet stand

In You is my true voice

You were always there.
Existed. Had Your Being
threaded throughout
Creation and I chose
to ignore Your calling
upon the inner pools
within the recesses
of my Soul.

Than I fell in love with You.
Deeply. You were Here
and now You are present
throughout absolutely every
cell of this being and
encompass all
thoughts that lovingly
think about You
return to You
rely on You