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sarah Feb 2019
at 75 miles an hour
everything seemed to slow
minds hazed with gratitude and deep thoughts
blinking took seconds
turning took minutes
road trips took hours

raindrops morphed into faces
crumbled into emotions
at 80 miles an hour

everything seemed too slow
sunshine masked with clouds darkened into oblivion  
at 85 miles an hour

she seemed to appreciate the business in life
highways knew no time
lines played like a broken record
a broken record
a broken record
so fast it was slow
so hot it was cold
at 90 miles an hour

it was ironically calming riding at 95 milled an hour
the sun setting into colors of pink and purple and orange
the sky forming a rainbow over a collapsing bridge
everything stopped,
at 100 miles an hour

-s. wilder
Alli Westerhoff Aug 2014
I’ve put this off for a long time
Not knowing what words would come to form
Hoping I could say something new
But it all just feels the same

You let me fall and didn’t catch me
But like a shooting star I’ll gleam bright
Falling hard and burning beautiful
This fire inside will soon be gone
And our love over before the sun
breaches the mountains in the distance.

I’ve been told that I shine
But it feels so lonely and cold
because this dark room is without you
And I have to burn to see how bright I can be
I have to know it’ll be alright
without you

No longer paired but severed at the seams
We fought and tore all hope apart
But you walked away first
Regret never on your lips

The bus rolls away without turning back
But I wait in the cold hoping it will
Knowing it won’t

The comfort of God is on both sides
No one right, no one wrong,
But it had to be that way for you
Perfectly divided and clean cut
So that you could justify the hurt

“You deserve” is a stupid term
“I want” is more acceptable
But it’s not enough to sustain
and apparently neither am I

Fear not, because I have not forgotten
All the times I held you crying
All the times I heard you yelling
All the times you said you’re sorry
And all the times I never believed you.

Don’t worry, cause I know we are different
Just disappointed that differences make divisions
And we are joined by only one thing now.
Jesus stands with both of us you see?
He knows, He loves, and He heals both our hearts
But how should I feel when you only take?
How should I feel when you’re only right,
And I am only left, to tell you,
“This is what I know, and I don’t want to let go.”
With ears far away, carrying my heart in your hands
You forget to let me have it back,
And I search for the day when I can be free of that heart.

Oh Lord make me whole through You alone.
Don’t let these broken sins and forgotten promises
Tear me from your Love.
Words Words, that’s all they feel like.

But in the depths of my soul I cry for God.
I cry for justice and patience,
I cry for humility and grace,
And I cry out for answers.

God will not answer me.

He will show me,
With a new adventure I’ll embarque,
Enjoying the journey, but will happily hurry.
I’ll hurry to leave and gather new millage,
Go up and down the windy trail until slowly.
So painfully.
So eagerly.
I will find new treasures.
I will be regrown, and my heart will sing again
Like a tree after the fire.
Like a flower after the winter.

And you are distant, running with my rotted heart.
Trotting along in a separate direction,
With Jesus on your mind,
And God on your heart,
But only looking for what you need.
A different path, a different way.
Not wrong, just not the same.
On the backs of farmers ride the urbanites who target to pillage
Leftwardly along the left-handed path bores not a missed turn
Through a borough, a hamlet, a class-2A city and a dumpy village
it's legislated to fluoridate each brook, well, spring & cistern
without regard to code, codex, exception or percentage of millage
Should I lance, squeeze, ablate, extirpate or let this cyst burn?
Helpless dejection, abject poverty, silken hose put me in a mood
to wring the necks of stolen chickens; to raise cats on dog food
I rise not by the sun in perigee, nor by the tolling of a church bell
not by Nicky of Cusa on squaring circles or the harrowing of hell
Dermatologically, chiggers and mites nourish by parasitic function
So unlike priests & bishops who decree extreme Catholica unction
It's the affront, prayer-toil & misery what feeds a cold compunction
Hydrogen peroxide is keen for punctured wounds & blisters busted
For disinfecting Negroes and Hebes who muse with brown mustard

— The End —