Trickle fickle fears
Down my back
Chilling courage that I lack
Fighting back, I’m still a girl
Watch me twirl in that whirling swirling world
Ever tethered never bettered
By my silly fickle fears, fears of tears, fears of years
Fears of leaving cozy closets, for the chaos of the crowded
Whirling world that’s waiting watching round the bend.
So I pretend?
What’s the use in hiding fickle fears that hunt me down throughout the years
When all I really need is just a remedy for me?
Well, trickle fickle river
Carve a bed
For my head
Let me think until I’m at the brink of sinking to epiphanies
Then crawl back out and rest beside that river -
Watch the ripples quiver
Oh my weepy eyes, they quiver!
Even raging rivers quiver!
Find that even nature’s faith can falter in the forward flow, we’re clinging –
wringing seconds from the moment that flies by
And suddenly I’ll feel the drive to try to fly a little higher
Suddenly I’ll know I’m not alone inside my tries
I’ll find the skies my silly fickle fears disguised through all the heavy years
While cowered in the cozy closets
Safely smothered, till I found it:
Faith in what I cannot see propels the very heart of me
This future that I’m after fills with laughter
While my captor, peaceful passion, spreads a caption
‘Neath the image of my
Feeble fickle fears
In their cage
Locked away inside a page
By this girl with hope unfurled
Watch her smile on a wild and winding ride
Ever bettered never tethered
By the fickle fears that you and I still try to hide inside the night
Forgetting that the sky’s still there above.
With a caption carved by crimson love
That’s somewhat reminiscent of
The flutter of the flaming faith
I felt before I fell inside my fears
But now, with quiv’ring ripples found
And simple melody unbound
I’ll whirl and twirl inside a swirling world that’s weak against the brave new girl
That hope in Him inspires me to be
Amen.
I write about what’s in my head when I’m in bed.
I’m often surprised by what I find inside my mind.
And be they small or tall the pages they call
And then the pen must listen again.
[raw, straight from the head to the hand. It rambles and I must go back to it, but it is Food from Thought.]
Each year yields a song
And each day a new sin
Each night a repentance
At dawn, Re-begin.
If refrains are just rhythms
Repeated more often
What will be my refrain
While my rhythm’s forgotten?
Please start up my beating
Let rhythm revive
Whatever the chances
I had to survive.
‘Cause lacking the rhythm
Of your heart in mine
Would be like a dream
With no spark of divine.
To face a new year
With this fear in my face,
It is worse than my failure.
It’s worse than disgrace.
For what is a human
Without any hope,
And how can a shell-girl
Continue to cope?
All my words have been pilfered.
My fear’s not enough
To warrant the ear
Of the ones who rebuff.
Desperation’s passé
And my fear is cliché,
So what can a frightened young girl
Hope to say?
All I have is an aching
In language arcane
And fear in my soul
That defies any name.
Dear Spirit, speak for me
In fire and breath.
Relay to my Lover
The news of my death.
Three days will I slumber,
While ache will still pulse,
And Lover will come
While all else are repulsed.
My Lover will ache
Matching beats with my breast
Till his rhythm revives
That cold thing in my chest.
Odd it is, now, to realize
Though backward it’s true
That the ache I thought killed me
Brought life to me, too.
For what dearer motive
For living have I
Than the nearness of Lover
There after I die?
