why does everything have to have a title.

The words I seek, it seems,
drift just beyond the reach
of my thirsty ears.
Or they lie, perhaps, within the dark, rich soil
embryotic in shape and size and form.
Would I spur them to take shape and size
to find their place in my hungry mind and form on my empty page
before they are quite ready to come on their own accord,
would be folly.
And yet -
my ears strain.
I feel the growing pains,
the ache in my heart as this embryo swells and shrivels,
the longing in my being for articulation, explanation, revelation...
this mouth of mine longs to testify.
Where are you, O words?
You who speak of the heights -
and the heights from which I've fallen.
You who speak of the shadow in which I'm found, with
a crown called beauty
an anointing of reverence and gratitude
an appearance anew that reflects restoration and redemption within;
indeed the very garments upon these once-weary shoulders have become
oh-so-light and oh-so-white, like the first December snow.
You who speak of the garments
once stained with passion, sacrifice, obedience, and the garments
once washed in Passion, Sacrifice, Obedience.
You who speak of once,
the Once in time,
the once in my life,
the once upon a time when this name was called forth for an exchange:
passion for Passion
sacrifice for Sacrifice
obedience for Obedience
garment for garment.
Where are you, O words, words who channel a Voice?
Channel, won't you, through this hollow space?
Let the roar of the testimony resound!
Travel, O echo, beyond the shadows,
into a darkness where garments still like in wait...
wait...
wait...
Wait, must I, for these words to come
Lie down, must I, in the dark, rich soil and in my embryotic state, wait.