> I here the alarm sounding in the distant sunrise
> I should of ran so long ago
> But I stayed.
> You asked me to believe
> You cried me to sleep.
> Now I am here standing alone,
> Nothing left but a pillow
> I throw questions in the wind
> Along with the anger and broken promises
> I blow the dandelion
> Watch it's beauty as you spit in my face
> On this cold rainy day.
> Did you know
> I heard the wind long ago
> She tried to take me away from you
> you held on.
> And cut me to peices
> all at the same time.
> I gave it all
> gave it all
> you owned this childs heart
> cut out perfect waiting every night
> I lay here as you spit in her face.
> The only rain left is the rain from her face.
> You had to tear her to peices
> til there was nothing left.
> she bent forwards and in half
> wrote a love note in a bottle hoping he would come back.
> Every gift , every promise a diamond shattered and carried away by the sea.
> she sings a lullabye so she can sleep.
> watches beauty fade
> and every dream drowned under the weight of the sand and tide
> She was on her knees
> she was briused
> she sacrificed everything for you
> We both did
> Then he spit in my face.
> washed away with the winter rain
> not sure how long it will last.
> But I pray Jesus takes the pain away.
Composites slit open stills reeling my veins into your corpse
I can’t keep you alive- I’m drained .
Iris shot from blank gun
I sit on this coffin
You lay on the ground laughing
I sacrifice who I am
You reach for the wrong god.
I pray as I reach for His thorns I feel His hands they grasp for my own I know you feel me You call my name
What is left as you make whole again But do they see the great sacrafice you have made That I have bled for thiere mastakes?
I am divided The beggar claims a martars case. The wisdom is granted for a wolf in a sheeps cape. As we wait the trial and jury of his fate.
With nothing left but crowns and thread Look to the King To be brought your life again.
Life sends clutter that sends an astounding noise that echos through our days that we forget we operate on what we have learned merley from our past and not from our life experience. Or what God has taught us . The back stage has been reborn , the scars renewed and we are now the writers of our very own play. Yet pages of old greif stricken novels hold us back and stain our new pages rendering us from hearing our new loves voices, our childrens cry for us to listen . As we scream in our kitchens, hide in our 9-5 jobs. We forget where dreams come from. We forget that the small hearts that look to us for new moments and new dreams are smoldered by grime and empty side walks. And we remain selfish and full of pride.
I am just a writer, who observes so many children who got lost by the way side. I hear them amoungst friends, they talk about how there parents don't love each other any more, or how they are so busy fighting they don't see them. And there parents say theyr'e children are just fine. These kids are 5, they are 7 maybe 13. And they are smarter than we are. You see there pages have not been torn yet. We havn't had the time to do that . And so soon we forget that are sails arn't broken they have just given up to the storms that rage around us.
I encourage you to become 5, 7 or 13 again. And begin your story again. Walk backstage and re write your play. What would it say? Where would you go? What would your children see? Would you hide? Would you be afraid to love?
Yes I am just a writer. But I encourage you, to open your hearts, your ears and listen. And re write the story again. Before it's to late. .... And throw the old story away. Where it can never be read again.