Being poor, but never letting that stop us from finding good, clean fun every weekend.
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Backgrounds of yesterday come through in a song I first learned to sing when in girl scouts in seventh grade.
I still feel it’s specialness inside each time I sing it today.
Flowing through mild waters out at sea, drowning in meanings that are taunting me ceaselessly, finding nothing to save me in days of saddened recollection.
Stretching it over my imagination, keeping me stable, and focused through it all.Bowing to life and it’s grief, thanking it for the gifts and talents God has given me to access human frailty and exposing it clearly, undisputably in writing poetry.Giving myself to it’s rhythm as I write of the intense depths it fills me…
Lengthening shadows hiding me behind death’s near doors,
its unsound reality.Taking with me, all senses, picturesque and photographicmemories, placing everything into boxes of clouds to begiven back to God when I see Him in heaven.
Tears, washing and cleansing, yet not removing an iota
bursting with grief.Songs and words of comfort do not seem to touch my soul,they only cause my heart to swell and my tears to fall.Each tear like a watery grave holding my Dad close to meas they fall slowly down my face.Dad cannot be held or hugged, nor can my tears as theywash sorrow over…
Cacophony of sound, delivering sounds quickly and quietly to inner pages of books, long since written and foretold.
Tapping life into poetry as words fly into my mind, not leaving any of them behind to belabor the chances of never being heard.
Watching people live their lives, doing what they feel they must while on earth.
Taking time out, getting away every chance they get, just to catch their breath and live a little.People going about their business, doing what they can under ordinary circumstances, always trying to get ahead and divert their energy into areas other than stress.Taking matters into their own hands and releasing the heartaches left them in…