He Speaks to me

He speaks to me.

Through the thread like miniature voice that lies below the pillow of my consciousness. He speaks to me. He reverberate his love to me in that cloudy, crystalline image that stalks my night dreams. He tells me that he won’t cave until I remember to be still. So I can touch the face of Deity.

He speaks to me.

About how the warfare of my heart can be healed with a dose of benevolence. He tells me that in my tranquillity, terror will design itself into insignificant blob of scarred light. Revealing that within there is a sparkle within the white blemishes. He says it’s hidden behind the illusory pebble that seats between him and me. Housing ugliness of our kaleidoscopic universe. The universe I come from.

He speaks to me.

Slowly showing me that mystery and pain is his best creation. And how the more I run the more He will roar through his best creation. He tells me I should stop sleeping with wounded reflections. They will lie that He is a sky. A place I can never reach unless I am a Star.
He speaks to me.

About His home that seats in the centre of my heart.