With my Love Pants pulled up,
It’s not that absurd, for me to imagine Angels
Leaning over each blade of grass,
Whispering softly, ‘Grow, grow, grow…’
With my Love Pants pulled up,
It’s not too Grand of me, to observe
that we; that you and I, might Matter
to the Whole, to the Entirety
And with my Love Pants pulled up
I was able to sit, with my heart screaming inside me
And stop my eyes, from looking away,
From the horrifying violence, of a Brother’s parting
And now, with my Love Pants pulled up, I Bear Witness
to the collapse, and to all to the Wonderous Beginnings
And I whisper into the storm, into the Winds of Change
‘Grow, grow, grow…’
Note: It makes sense to me, but if it didn’t for you- ‘Pulling up your Love Pants’ is like ‘putting on your big girl/boy pants’; just more expansive.
In the past weeks, I have been reading many wonderful writers and leaders contributing to the BLM discussions on Medium, including the…
