At the Mercy Table
21 – 09 – 26
I am here, Lord—at Your service.
I pull up a seat at Your mercy table and lay myself down at Your feet.
Showing posts with label Reflections. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reflections. Show all posts
The Distance Between Beats: A Reflection on Long-Distance Love
The Distance Between Beats
Words by Adika. A. Toussaint (HumbleLove)
SECTION I: THE POETIC REFLECTION
A quiet text across the blue,
a bridge built out of miles and light,
where simple thoughts stay fixed on you,
and make the endless distance bright.
When the Storm Clears: A Poem on Heartbreak and Resilience
🌩️ When the Storm Clears
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| A sanctuary reflection on love, loss, and letting go. When the storm clears, we find the strength to survive and bloom once more. |
Yesterday came and gone,
and so was your love.
A river flows straight alongside
the banks and walls it forms.
The Midnight Lock and the Morning Wings
When Fear Knocks at the Window
The night has a way of amplifying the smallest sounds, turning a routine rattle into a heartbeat of pure panic. When my daughter’s room became the focal point of an unexpected midnight disturbance, the world instantly shrank to the space between our four walls. Adrenaline replaced sleep, and the sudden discovery of a stray cap left behind on the mat felt like the chilling punctuation mark to a terrifying question. In those dark hours, the mind constructs the fiercest narratives, preparing for the worst while guarding those we love.
The Thief of Time: Why Procrastination is a B.I.T.C.H
The Thief of Time
Procrastination is a B.I.T.C.H
We have all met her. She whispers in your ear that you have plenty of time, wraps you up in a blanket of comfort, and helps you build a mountain of excuses. But make no mistake—she isn't your friend.
Somehow: A Poetic Reflection on Love and Endurance | Humble Love Toussaint
Somehow
A Morning Reflection
Words by: Humble Love
I am coming to you somehow,
leaving the discomfort of where I stand.
Whisper that you need me,
even when you are low-key and quiet.
What should I make of this distance?
Just let me know how you are.
Let us make amends and shift our focus
back to the center of us.
We will find a way to make it work.
Together, we’ll gather moss and grow old,
roots twisting into the earth.
Somehow, we are going to endure.
Stay rhythmic,
— HumbleLove 🤍
The Second Mop: A Morning Reflection on Cleansing the Soul
🧼 The Second Mop: Cleansing the Temple
The clock reads 2:00 AM, and the world is wrapped in absolute stillness. This is my sacred hour—the time for prayer, for alignment, and for putting my home in order before the day demands its pieces.
The Scattering: Protecting Your Peace and Clearing the Porch
🐾 The Scattering & The Seed
The veranda holds a quiet crowd when the evening is sweet,
Lingering shadows waiting for a comfortable seat.
The Final Pour: A Poem on the Grace of New Beginnings
☕ The Final Pour
Savoring the lessons of yesterday without lingering there. A quiet reminder that finishing a heavy chapter with grace is the ultimate act of inner freedom. 🕊️✨
Pour yourself a warm cup and dive into today's reflection...
There is a quiet grace in finishing the old,
Not with a bitter slam of doors,
But with a steady hand, a story told,
As we prepare for something more.
The Threshold of Voilà: A Poetry Reflection on Love and Timing
The Threshold of Voila
The wind came first, a sudden draft, To claim the glass upon the shelf.
It shattered down, a sudden crash
The past dissolving by itself.
I swept the shards into the pan, And cleared the space of yesterday,
Then laid the lace and doilies down To soften where the shadows lay.
The Strength in the Split: Holding the Frame Steady
The "Sustained Frame" Vault Entry 🏛️🚪
We often fear the cracks in our own veins, worried they make us fragile. But look at the frame—the split is there, yet the door stands firm. My cracks don't define my weakness; they define the history of my resilience. I am still the pillar. I am still steady.
| Look closely at the frame. There is a crack in the grain—a split that speaks of seasons, pressure, and the weight of the years. |
Most would call it damaged. Most would look for a replacement. But look again: the frame is still square. The door still hangs true. The Sanctuary is still protected.
My own veins might carry the marks of the friction. My heart might show the splits where life tried to bend me. But the wood is still solid. I am still the support.
To be "cracked" is not to be broken; it is to be seasoned. I can carry the weight of the entire entrance and never buckle.
The Exit: An Opened Gate
Success isn't just about high scores and green circles. Sometimes it's about the battles fought at 23:53 that no one sees, and the 3:50 AM barefoot walk that reminds you the ground is still there. If you're feeling saturated by the 'red marks' of life, come inside—the floor is clean and the gate is wide open.
The "Opened Book" Verse 📖⚓️
For the soul going through the same dilemma:
The Saturation: An Accidental Spilled
An Accidental Spilled
The moment the cover failed.
The box was a fortress, tight-lipped and brown, holding the weight of the "well-compact" until the rhythm shifted.
A loose crown, a plastic sigh, and then—the silver leak. Not a flood, but a whisper that didn't ask permission to move.
It wasn't a break; it was a betrayal of the seal. A single drip claiming the dry floor, the first dark bloom on a cardboard skin.
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| The glowing Blue Blossom of the Sanctuary, representing the saturation and bloom that comes from being 'The Accidental Spilled. |
The Accidental Spilled
The weight of the soak.
It is no longer a box; it is a sponge for the unintended. I try to lift the corners, but the integrity has dissolved into a heavy, fragrant surrender.
What was meant to stay inside has become the very skin of the vessel. The product has claimed the packaging. The "accidental" has settled in, staining the foundation until the mess is the message.
You cannot wipe away what has already been absorbed. I stand in the center of the spill— heavy, saturated, and strangely, finally, full.
The Distance Between Bricks (The Silent Anchor)
The Distance Between Bricks: A Poem on Long Distance Love & Silent Strength"
You are away, but not a moment passes that my mind doesn't drift to you—wondering what is going on in that beautiful head of yours. I wonder if you’ve eaten, if you’re sleeping okay, or if you’re feeling the same pull across the sea.
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| Architecture isn't always about the finished building; sometimes it’s about surviving the silence between the bricks. To anyone waiting for a word that hasn't come yet—this one is for us. 🧱💙 #TheUnspokenBloom #TheSilentAnchor |
The Neon Sanctuary: Finding Home in the Shadows of the City
We often look at the city skyline to find the dream, but I found it this morning in the crack of a sidewalk.
The Neon Sanctuary
The palm trees in this city don’t offer shade; they just stand like tall, thin witnesses to the gold-streaked sunset. From the window of the bus, the city looks like a promise. But on the pavement, it feels like a debt.
The Weight of a Whisper: What it Means to Miss Your Embrace
"I told him I missed him, and he asked me what it was exactly that I missed. My heart didn't go to the big milestones or the loud memories; it went to the quiet ones. The way a room feels different when he’s in it. The safety of a warm embrace. This poem, The Weight of a Whisper, is my answer to that question."
The Weight of a Whisper
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| The simple grace of being near, where every doubt would disappear. |
You asked me, in the quiet space, What shadow of you I still embrace. What part of "you" my spirit seeks When silence is the only thing that speaks.I didn't speak of grander things, Or golden gifts that memory brings. I spoke of how the world would cease Within the circle of your peace.I miss the "us" that time erased, The steady rhythm, the warm embrace. The simple grace of being near, Where every doubt would disappear.It isn't just a name I call, Or pictures hanging on the wall; It’s the hollow space where you would stand— The missing pressure of your hand.
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