The road is ground glass--
the rain is sea salt. Life is hard, yet over too soon. On hands and knees each day a bit farther battered and cut to remind us how far. Let us not dwell then on the distance we've traveled. Let us not dwell on the place we once were. The road is ground glass-- our tears are sea salt. They sting torn hands and purify souls.
0 Comments
Have you seen my heart?
It was taken Away from me. She ripped it out And threw it In a tree. I hit it with A stick A rock Another stick. Finally it broke free. There it is See it? Blowing in the breeze. Have you seen my heart? It drifted Away from me. Through times of loss and times of gain,
Through times of happiness and times of pain, Through times of wellness and times of ill, Even through times of faithlessness, He is with us still. For we are never alone to as we walk this Earth. No, He has been by our side since birth, For we are loved far more than we will ever know. When our time comes, it's His home to which we go To rest rest forever in our Father's loving embrace. This truly is the meaning of grace. A labyrinth memorized,
A habit waking before dawn, everyday, at night. Too dark alone with her thoughts, Quite alone! Ghostly figures across distant, half-visible sky, Practically invisible as the horizon dawns. Single wanderers captured in scrolling pixels, The image like spirits she turned off and on again. Something of a freak show to see had vanished Into the mist of reality. Hooded figures in muggy gloom buried in the mist-- So beautiful, so fresh--insisted on privacy. The excavation of her fear seemed harmless, Out there in the for--but the damage glistened Inside her eyes. Her hidden path waiting, foraging, salvaging, A little treasure; and after all, still sleeping. Frightened by a strange battle each morning before dawn, She had to guard the expedition all through The cracked night. The haze of color began to dissipate, that distant bell rang, Its single note vibrated in the air. The heat against her face that morning Was waiting to greet her again. It was clear she was supposed to control the tempest born at night. As the drops slide down the pain
as it flips at the end Suspended in-sane Looking through the pane Seeping souls crying reign Did it win or did it lose Still yet to know It feels rather bruised Something different to ponder Be cautious of the wander Because his heart swelled She slipped down to his well Knowing is the prophet way What they say about the one About the many who pay Petals of a flower fall,
And the soil soaks them up. The steady flowing wilted flesh of time not spent quite well enough. As it feeds from the sun's slow burn, it's craving something more to subdue, to set itself apart from everything. The strike was placed, hand over face. Taken away to a strange place. Where we're left in such a mess, wishing death would come. What is this place? Why have we been taken here? Pain is filling every day. Why have we been left here. A Coca-Cola clock
and a snack fridge, half-stocked, rainbows in oil lay captured by sand and more oil, still, always, stained hands that quaked with your grandfather's history. Those hands patiently taught me carburetors. On the wall, sun-stained calendars never advanced past their final Decembers. Screws and washers waited in lidded baby food jars. Each visit, he checked the fluids of our car. Warm, the engine clicked while Papa declared each piece fit like the tools he hung from his peg board or like this town's stretching fields of corn planted across narrow rows, drawn straight spaces old men made their own. I was just like a little cup that was chipped and stained,
But through my brokenness you saw the beauty that remained. Most would have thrown me out and then said it was right, But with love you cleaned me till I shined in the light. |