God tells me things

and no, this is not a metaphor.

i am told words, secrets, and sweetness

i would never know otherwise

and when i say them out loud, people cry. they always cry,

never tears of sadness or terror, but relief,

the relief of their soul being seen, their spirit recognized,

but not by me! people terrify me, i am a slave of conversation,

i cannot wield a sword, a thought, a tongue,

green fear halts me all too often,

but when God speaks, i am jolted, alive, sparks fly

inside, behind, under, up, around, out,

suddenly shocked with unearthly compassion

for those i am suddenly no longer afraid of.

my heart is beyond cure, so i must listen, listen, listen,

i am not a puppet, the only pull from above i feel is a divine generosity

that i am not kind enough to invent.