Faith at work, Lee (Interruption)

You are at work. You panic when you want to work. You know you need to work. You know where you are.

There is more to say. You feel a little lost. Your soul is drifting between planes.

The dark allure of trailer space shines into a hidden life. You repent but doubt only that you wish there was enough faith for your hope to gleam beyond the ends of your wit.

You see one opening that brings air to empty space of time and heart. Only once you see it, you give it away in fear. You don’t like to take.

It’s open at 8pm. You walk in and find the song to trap you for 20 minutes.

Your 20 minutes is passed peacefully as the song changes to a low hum. Hmm. Hymn. Him. You hear him once more and smile only in regret, thinking twice about your choice afterwards. You try to double back but the next choice escapes you because you knew it would come. You feel evil for a second. You pray quietly. You hear a voice outside shout to the neighbour about something square and three dimensional. Likely a box of something.

Your foot catches on a towering wooden step, you feign a fall, and don’t fall, but you exclaim.

You need a moment, and ask inside the head you own ohm. Ohm. You try once to see inside, you catch a distraction and recover. Your mind wanders to a foreign place of solitude, but reality steps in to catch you off guard. You pivot twice.

Booking a day or two off was easy, recovery even more so a truthful repentant act. You lie only to one person, so you cry. Your heart beats three times. In a second, you stagger.

Your face shines for more pain, and the faith shows up for a moment on the floor. You return to gravity.

Showing a moment of weakness, you pause, and something catches your breath. You stumble only mentally, and you balance on two feet.

Inside the force distracts your temple, so you raise an eyebrow. Its truth allows you a moment’s reprieve. 10pm approaches and you fathom a moment of silence. It comes with a choice you already took twice earlier. You breathe heavily.

In the light of dark empty night, you brace for impact, but you dodge a lamp under a rock of stone. The rock doesn’t exist. The light does.

Back in time for 20 seconds, you reflect on the feeling you controlled. You overcome it.

Simple things like smiling are easy enough, but you suppress it for two minutes. You laugh inside, you crumble inside, you faithfully accept a moment in the night. You wait.

Controlled by a second opinion, you feel a mentor nearby calm you. You freshen your breath. You stop for two minutes. You continue.

Book of light and hope is in your mind, you post a picture to the window of your soul. You remember it.

You spare a tense second for tribulation and breathe in for cold air. You exhale. You thank him again.

Your finger numbs to a pause. You forget it. You thank her and laugh.

Seeing an end to the dimly lit tunnel, you turn back and raise your voice. You grasp it for thirty seconds. It takes three.

You plan an escape route, and the plan finally succeeds for another day. You shine inside. You relive a moment of peace. You pray external. He listens. You ask. It answers in it’s time. You stay true.