I have empty boots strewn on my back deck. I have empty boots still in my cupboard not yet walked their ordained path. I have empty boots and empty dreams, not really living, or so it seems. Where would have those steps taken? Who would I have been? Where could I now be if I took those steps of my wishful making?
who knew ten years ago writing to process trauma would make my heart and mind stronger and open my world to new ideas, people and order, even make me live longer?!
It's surely made me wonder, observe, admire and sonder in many a world where I'd like to yonder and ponder new ways to phrase my inner yearnings and sift out foolish fodder.
These are the best days of our lives, or Are there better days to come? No more sorrow, no more pain, so much more to gain, When we trust in the rising Son, Now, smile. Joy thrives; Saved lives, new creations, in time with the eternal drum.
There is a Time to learn Time to make mistakes Time to cry Time to **** up Time to make bread Time to read Time to love Time to be hurt, and a Time to hurt – Time to apologise, and a Time to forgive. Time to respond, rather than react Time to rethink Time to drink coffee Time to let the dawn of new promises wash over me Time, rebirthed and reclaimed, The most precious commodity. But sometimes there's no time at all. Oh, how we mistake its insignificance by drowning ourselves in unhealthy times.
Night hung in the heat. Naked sleep offered no relief. Even as morning creeps rain tries to poke holes in the heavy air, but only a ‘dust devil’ is accomplished!
Remember when you licked the beaters As your mum baked cakes? Nostalgia of innocence teeters, Recaptured on my lips Today, after making meringue For a raspberry daquise. Fabulously, fruity favourite, heart-sang, Laughing afterwards as I notice a leftover moustache.