A Word in the Wind

Silence is a sound louder than Thunder. It has a pulsating rhythm blocking out the Wind.

Fears have chased me into this cave. Afraid to come out, afraid to seek your face. Once the fires came down from heaven and consumed my sacrifice saturated with tears. Now my lips won't part to call your name.

The red bird stopped coming by to feed my soul. Have you left me? Turned your back in shame. Now I can't find your shadow to hide in. I'll lie by the cave's door and wait to hear a word.

Prince Charming is Not in the Building

Twenty years is a long time to be asleep and I'm not referring to Sleeping Beauty. The ignorantly induced slumber in which you hallucinate of halos hoovering over the tops of people heads. And when you finally wake up they have turned out to be horns.

Older women say, "girl your eyes are coming open". My question to them is, "why didn't you pry them open a long time ago?" There should be a new coalition started. A mission to warn all young women of the evils of believing hopelessly in love. The problem is, is it's a part of the American Dream. The man comes with the two point five children, the house with the flower garden and the two car garage.

Is it fantasy? I don't know. All I know is I missed the boat on the undying love. I missed the call when they called for those looking for a friend, companion and a lover. Seems to me I was in the wrong line.

I'm envious of it when I see it. I imagine it to feel like the sun on a spring morning. There are days that I wonder will it ever come to me. And there are days when I don't believe that it will and I'm tired of wishing.

Praying all of my days since I was old enough to understand the unction to knell. Yes, I still believe in the power of prayer. But I think now I'll change the words that I say. I'll stop looking at what is in my view. I'll just close my eyes and wait for the answer to come to my ear.

the tears waited until your shoulder was there to lean on--my friend.

Sour Apple Martini

The spirits felt good going down. Sweet rebellion!

Preying Words

Conversations throughout the day, sometimes meaningless, sometimes with intent. Intentions to use language to unravel someone like a ball of yarn. To undo the effects of previous words that planted seeds of resilience.

Jealousy or just plain hatred must be the catalyst for such actions. The serial need to destroy and cankerously dissolve another. Preying on the lame, searching them out, sniffing their blood drippings.

Maybe recognizing the scars that still won't heal, and the effects that show up in ignorance--the unlearned. The hue of the skin, the accent placed on words and geographic location are flags assigned to faces. The faces viewed as the sum of the whole and not just a part.
Faces that grimace when they are introduced to hatred. Faces that cover the offended heart. Yet, still serially pursued hunted down by the scent of fear.

Pride is a shield from the intellectually snobbish. From the ones that hide behind their minds. The minds that allowed them to escape the same pitiful hole that the ones they snoot their nose at are still in. They must reside there in order not to be reminded from whence they came.

The door is visible, not open--but no longer locked. Previously un-awaringly existing with a chest full of tomorrows waiting to be spent with a new name attached to another soul filled with new laughter.

The kind that makes the hollow full and the naked clothed. The kind hoped for when tears are locked up refusing to be released for fear a resolution would have to be made.

Or has the resolve already invisibly taken place and now just waits for the manifestation of the final scene?

The orange hazy glow of the sun like a ball bounced into its place descending as the faint moon is called in. It's waiting ready for duty across the sky. The time nestled in between, nameless--as if the earth again stood still.

Reality can be just one dream away or it could seem as though the date on the calendar never changes. Whichever the case you still secretly check the horoscope hoping for a sign. Some prophetic word from a far away galaxy speaking to you. If only you had faith enough to believe in the God sent prophet. One who hadn't sold out to notoriety and fortune. But one who traveled around like a salesman setting up tents like a circus.

The lady on the front row playing the timbrel has an unction to speak, but laws permit her from being able to. The music is loud but the message is clear. Hold it tight like the four leafed clover hunted for in the grass and folded prayfully placed in the book of Psalms on the nightstand.

time for CHANGE

the light's dim time to change the bulb!

Weighed Down

Scales not always kind. Weighing, measuring a woman. Measuring her by her curves that are sometimes in the wrong place. Measuring her against a standard set by God's first creation. Since then man has been flawed. The original can not be duplicated. The secret was lost in the garden. Nevertheless, I am weighed down looking for it.

Rivers of living water bottled.
The glass must be broken.
The odor of your anointing.

Word Games

Words used to subtly slander and critique. Weapons used by snobbish people thinking one too niggardly to know the difference.

Sincerity rides out on words and a sharpen tongue slices thinner than any two edged sword.

Words sounded from the pulpits of men, clothed in theological concepts cloaked underneath their garments, were once taken by me as unquestionable truths. Words sent by God through messengers hired to speak on His behalf. Did they retreat to the mountain like Moses? Were these words inscribed on Holy tables?

I'll seek for myself, truth, truth that will make me free. For words, whispers in my ear upon the clefted rock where He'll pass by me in His Glory.

The moss laced path stained with remnants of melancholy. Trees dressed in ivy line the way leaning each in their own direction. The seasons of time have battered their trunks, but the veins that run up to their spine extend deep.

Carved symbols of love tatooed in the Willow tree act as a memorial. For lovers that abided in this secret place in the shadow of these wings. Shielded from the Eastern sun and the from the Northern wind protected by the Universe.

The hands of the Universe are not always visible they disappear like leaves reappearing over night. Not the old ones that have fallen to the ground , blown away, but a new birth needing to be swaddled. Clothed in the linen threaded with gold.

Underneath the moss a hidden treasure comparable only to that Who was hung on a tree. It takes faith to hunt it down. To secure it in the bottles of the soul.

Cloudy Day

The clouds cover the sky to deny the fullness of light.
The wind habitually stirs the leaves on the tree in the window.
Today time seems unimportant, the clock's moving at an unnoticeable pace.
Inside turmoil is boiling, the tea kettle is about to blow.
Like the bell at the end of a working day.
Letting you know you have had enough.

Happy Birthday!!!

The sun anxiously appeared from his hiding place pulling back the blackened screen sprinkled in glitter to reveal freshly prepared manna.

Daddy

The shadows from the tree can't hide the tole of the years
Still his cataract eyes catches the brightness of the sun
The youth of a boy and the strength of a man

No longer measured by his strong hands and arms
That lifted me from off the ground
But rather numbered by his dignity

In the face of death
Lurking daily to descend
Like a black cloud hovering

His off balanced stand against the darkness
He weeps and cries for mercy
I stand watching him breathe

I rub his sore neck and shoulders
He smiles, his skin's soft, almost fragile
His hair fine like an infant

His voice no longer strong
His roaring laughter faint, but sweet
His steps no longer sound

Selfishly I want him to stay
Forever, never growing old
But he's tired

Tired of the machine
In place of his kidneys
Tired of his tattered body

The mind still works
His body won't obey
The agony of the mutiny

The shade can block the sun
But it can't block disease
That has come to seize him

Daily I must let him go
To the earth from which he came
To the God that gave him breath

Until then I'll sit and watch my daddy
Breathe his last days with dignity
Underneath the shade tree

My New Friend

When they brought her home, I hated her. I held the most prominent position in the Reed house. For years we fought for the attention. Sometimes the battles were physical. Today she's my friend, we have prayed, cried and laughed--we have fought for this friendship.

Happy Birthday to me!!

On the 5th I'll turn 38, time keeps on slipping, but I think I'll stop right here!

A Trip Home

The streets are not as wide or as long as they were before. Manicured lawns, painted houses and porches once filled with the laughter of playing children, all gone. Disappeared as if aliens had invaded and all the inhabitants had to flee to find refuge. Inhabited now by those who have changed the facade left by those living there day to day by faith. Faith that could be heard on every corner from the stands holding the singing birds and the pulpits that echoed. These creatures only take, no mind to recycle the knowledge left behind by those who left their mark through garden statues only now to be desecrated with the dung of pigeons. The Main street once dressed for the parades resemble a ghost town. Howling down the street faint voices of prosperity. Resurrection needed for a place, of a time and of a people crucified by poverty laid to rest in a tomb of rubble, waiting for an ascension.