imperfect prose on thursdays--living sacrifice

he begs me

(maker of man, moon and moth)
to love him

only him... to offer up words and images as incense

to become living (blood-emotion-chromosome) sacrifice

so here, we gather, artists and writers penitent, in the lonely place, the space where Jesus drifted mornings before crowd-healing, the place where he wept blood and became dying...

and we place post upon altar.

i am closing the comments box today; asking instead that you submit imperfect prose (as offering to him who saves), and/or, if you have nothing to write, a verbal uttering for someone broken, someone needing prayer...

((thank you))






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*Worship is a commissioned painting; prints available here*