I wonder if trees feel pain when asked to accept a season's passed?
Or if the path trodden with footprints side by side, grieves when only one returns.
Leaves drop, but I hear no crying.
Rain falls, but puddles call the children near.
I'd like to be a tree whose branches bend with the turning winds
Or the muddy trail full of splashy laughter and grins
But it's Winter and the wind of change cuts, icy blades, and my tender roots are battered and torn.
So I will wait until Spring arrives, and with her Hope.
She will dry my tears and shake off the dust.
Show me beauty I can love and trust.
She will fill my baskets to the rim.
And heal my heart deep within.
A friend came over, asked me how I was,
There was no time to answer, because
She told me what she thought.
So I acquiesced and fell into line,
Sang her the blues in 12 bar time.
I didn't know something was wrong with me
Thought it was only PMT
Or a case of fatigue.
But no apparently I’m depressed,
Need to be more like Jesus
Her diagnosis brought all my thanksgiving
As she scanned my life, judged all my living
She always knows better, and she tells me how.
Hope she comes again; I feel so much better now.
Gifts from heaven,
the falling leaves.
A golden carpet,
as trees in gracious abandon
unfold in glorious display
a sunlit royal welcome.
Yellow bursts of amber
droplets of love.
Mean girls wear the latest styles
Have fake smiles
Sow division, despair
Their gardens grow in shadowy places
Behind walls, in hidden spaces
Their nectar has a bitter taste
But flies are not discerning
They **** it in like drunks, cheap wine
Sour acid, their own sublime
Gluttons crying “More and more!”
Rise up in a pungent cloud
And acid rain comes pouring down.
The vile liquid which they spread--
Their sustenance, their daily bread—
On filthy lips, feeds new seed heads.
So their gardens will always grow,
Filled with thorns and jagged rows
And roots running and deep and long and strong,
In the dark, where they belong.
Though life abounds with blossoms bright,
fed and watered, nurtured right;
And trees along the river bank,
strengthened so, display their might,
Saguaro, YOU surprise me most
and give the desert dwellers hope.
Alone, you stand in arid sands
without your roots in greener lands,
yet strong and tall and bright, command
my respect and awe.
Deep inside your prickly skin,
you've stored life's sunshine deep within;
Though scarce the raindrops from the sky,
you've captured each and treasured, "MY!"
If I could be like you, what heights I would achieve.
And revel in acceptance that, like you,
I'm planted right where I should be.
I’ll always think the best of you
I won’t assume the worst
No matter what the circumstance
No matter what the hurt.
Until I’ve walked a mile in your shoes
Until you’ve walked in mine
Jumping to conclusions in just a waste of time.
Rumours fly like butterflies
Bringing honey on their tender lips so innocently;
But until I’ve come to you my friend
And sought to understand,
I won’t believe a word they say because
Truth ain’t second-hand.
We observe but do not see
We only see through coloured lenses of our own reality.
I don’t know what’s in your heart
You don’t know what’s in mine
So let’s leave the temptation
Of judging behind.
I didn’t mean to hurt you
What you read, wasn’t what I meant.
Words were taken out of the context
Of my heart’s intent.
So, come walk with me my friend.
Let’s try to talk it out
‘cause wouldn’t life be sweeter with the
Benefit of doubt?
The benefit of doubt my friend,
That’s what I’m giving you
The benefit of doubt
Can’t see it working any other way.
I actually wrote this as a song. :)
There’s nothing I can say
You’ll just take it the wrong way.
It’s been like this since before we met
You determined who I was, and the mould was set.
I walked into your expectations,
The canvas prearranged,
Painted me in colours dark
Your heart the gauge.
Were the canvas fresh and clean,
Another artist might have seen
to let the paint fall where it might,
enjoy the image,
love-- chiarascuro’s light.
So think what you want
See the world through those eyes
I can’t do this anymore
Lord knows I’ve tried.
I’ve tried scratching off the layers you painted on that screen
I’m not that image you’ve painted of me,
But I realise now it’s in the artist’s hand;
His heart creates what’s on that stand.