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Rated: E · Poetry · Arts · #2184821
Wine does not come from water. It comes from fruit. But this one time, it came from water.
WINE FROM WATER

Long enough I have tested myself and tasted to see if I was wine.

If I have become the beauty that was called of me

To see if I have dreamt the dreams that were spoken for me


Long enough, I have known I was water

Clear and plain as they come

Sometimes dirty,

When stirred up, the dirt that sank in the bottom rises up

Larvae grows at my surface


Sundays I go to church and worship

I shout and scream

I pray and hope

I tithe and sacrifice

I read the word,

The book is with me

The voices are inside

The speaker caries my heart

My pen is drained of ink

My eyes are swollen from passion

I cry in tongues

I sing when they do,

I raise my hands, while on my knees, my feet cleansed in the water called holy

I wear white, while my heart is black.


I feel the things they say

I call to the Name

I shake their hand and kiss their cloth.


Hoping I could turn into wine.

I called upon a miracle,

While being dichotomized

From a woman to a wife

To an usher

And one among them that 'siteth' up on the front pews

Seeking the resting that I hoped for,

A feeling of being enough.

It terrifies me,


What calls me to be wine, believes in me.

But my experience is water.

My sins tainted me

They coloured me black.


But He says, I AM WINE, SAVED FOR LAST; BECAUSE I AM THE BEST WINE IN GALILEE.


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