for so long i've let my grip be strong, nearly balling these visions up like a used tissue.
my palms sweaty with anxiousness as i've wondered has led me astray in wander.
impatience has been the side effect of my fear that these dreams are wasteful and nothingness.
faith seemed like such work, too hard to even consider a simmer and slow bake.
a quick-fix has been my guise for nourishment, when really i need the long kind of cook.
i need all the moments of my story to process, to ferment if you will, for the best kind of health.
the process, sometimes seeming strange and odd, i now see as wondrous and a gift.
His Bread is different from what i've thought or even wanted.
i've cringed and felt the pangs of nausea rise over the appearance of what He brings me to.
yet, now i see how what He gifts is yeasty-like, so sweet in time.
and time is what makes these dreams loosen, and fly.