Gideon by Kristine Amundrud

How long have I hidden in

wine presses, squeezed by

insecurities?

A harvest of words a fiend forbids

A gleaning of grief pursuing the glow

Middle aged, and the Midianites no longer scare me

White horse prophesy–

galloping through oceans parted

with purpose!

Heartbeat of the father,

racing against mine

Your voice is going to rise above–

God’s voice,

leading me back to my own

Call to mind angelic hope

in the ache of achromatic void

Lifeblood to battle the imposter,

plasma for warring–

the enemy hates when we roar