To begin is to hear
the crunch of sneakers against morning dew pavement
to spread good like misty perfume and
carry joy as an anchor and paddle
a moment is the sum of action and intention
where our hearts rest, is where we will wake up
place a few alarm clocks within the boxes on your calender
this way of living needs a tune up
to change is to rip out and regrow
deep roots are chains
a new beginning is the lines on our fingertips
always there if we look close enough.
-n.J.bellacicco
@njb.poetry
I was born a Sunday man
with a Church bell in my soul
and a steeple coming from my chest
a journey to God’s house in each step
my voice drowned by angel’s choir
I remember the way I used to be
before taking part in His Supper
before allowing myself
to rest easy in the pew
I was a shaky man
a child tossed by the tide
a kite thrashed by the wind
It took time for the ink of the Book
to tattoo itself within my mind
to bury itself into the marrow of my actions
Sometimes I find myself hit by the tide
with my face dragging along the shore
shrapnel of shells causing me to bleed out
a bit of the Sunday man
But I am unafraid
I am not timid anymore
Because I was told not to be
And all humility rests in obedience
So as the people flood in
to praise God for all that is
I give God who I am
For He will make me a Sunday man.
-nJb
