To surrender

[organizedchaos]

There is heat in freezing. In the innermost bone marrow of your thirst-quenching spirit. Find it, and ride on it. Be it, die with it

The leaves are starting to fall off the trees again, creating space in between branches that have been filled for a couple of seasons.

When I write, I can feel the space pouring itself out of me. And it does something to make me shake. Make me marvel. Make me notice the delicate patterns of higher thinking. And how God so breathes in the colors around me.

All I ever want to do is capture the colors.

On paper, in painting, in movement. Everything takes my breath away because everything runs together.

Sometimes it’s fun to pretend to be on vacation when I’m really in my hometown. Cruise the streets on my bike and notice each shop as if it’s in a different city. A different state. And new things appear to me. New thoughts. New places in my new thoughts.

Soaking in sun chips. Letting their gold simmer into my skin and allowing myself to know that it protects me. The more I let go the more I see Him in every thought, movement, and prayer.

I’m the breath of the wind and the blood vessels of the trees.

And all I ever really want to do is listen. And be content in giving every word, every thought, every fine movement over to the Divine.

To surrender.

[tailor STATELY]

Enjoyed your poem.


There is heat in freezing. In the innermost bone marrow of your thirst-quenching spirit. Find it, and ride on it. Be it, die with it
The above verse seems out of place/context with the rest of your poem. The "Find it, and ride on it. Be it, die with it" even more so.
The leaves are starting to fall off the trees again, creating space in between branches that have been filled for a couple of seasons.... Even though you tried to set up v3 with a hint of analogy perhaps v2 is a bit out of place as well.

I would suggest you tighten up your piece a bit.

If I might presume a suggestion and a minor edit or two (feel free to ignore if you wish):


When I write, I can feel the space pouring itself out of me. And it does something to make me shake. Make me marvel. Make me notice the delicate patterns of higher thinking. And how God so breathes in the colors around me.

All I ever want to do is capture the colors.

On paper, in painting, in movement. Everything takes my breath away because everything runs together.

Soaking in sun chips. Letting their gold simmer into my skin and allowing myself to know that it protects me. The more I let go the more I see Him in every thought, movement, and prayer.

I am the breath of the wind and the blood vessels of the trees.

I would be content to listen, to observe. Offering every word, every thought, every fine movement over to the Divine.

To surrender.

For me this is the core of your piece.

Sincerely,
tailor STATELY

[organizedchaos]

Thank you, that definitely makes sense to me