The Dust – Apathy exposes your cracks

“Even when I try to stir myself up, I just get irritated because I can’t make anything come out. And in the middle of the night I lie here thinking about all this. If I don’t get back on track somehow, I’m dead, that’s the sense I get. 
There isn’t a single strong emotion inside me.” ― Banana Yoshimoto
 

 

 

You see beauty everywhere, your supposed to be happy. Your not.
You see people laughing, your supposed to be a part. Your not.
You see tears falling, your supposed to feel. Your not.
You see beauty everywhere, your supposed to be happy. Your not.
You see people laughing, your supposed to be a part. Your not.
You see prayers offered, your suppose to do that. Your not.
You see tears falling, your supposed to feel. Your not.
You see life passing, your supposed to do something. Your not.
And worst of all, you just don’t care. I mean you really, really, don’t care. About anything.
It’s death you feel in every little crack of your soul.
Like dust collecting, this death accumulates in the small areas of your life.
But wait you walking dead! Be encouraged!
There’s life again, a spring cleaning as it were, rising from the dust of death in your life.
You must quiet yourself and stop running to the next thing that will numb you.
You must quiet yourself and wait to hear the voice of your maker calling after you.
You must quiet yourself and pray to the one who has the love that will make you whole.
I’ve felt the death that living life can bring, and I’ve felt the arms of my Father,

Those arms have made me strong enough to live and be safe from the dust.

 

Also published in Broowaha Magazine
01082011
Advertisements

Burnt Bridges

“The only bad thing about burning your bridges behind you is that the world is round”

“That bridge you burn, in laughing pride walking on
Is the path that destiny forces to spawn
That one that is rejected will lead you the pawn
The day that died will be reborn atdawn.” – DMW




He laughed under the command of alcohol. With mockery his grand speech proclaimed the worthlessness of my life that he used to facilitate his riches. Needing his provision for my daily supply, I grew rebellious inside. The Boss continued his diatribe in the firelight. On my struggle he built his joy. My work, that though he taught it to me, stood alone in stark contrast to his proclamations. Joyfully he lit a match to burn the bridges and isolate me in shame. As the last timber fell in ashen dismay, the universe set in motion a turn of events that always humbles the proud. Within in months, he fell under the spell of my promotion and others saw to my advancement. The year ground on and then, in the new birth of spring, when burned things turn green again, his mistake of taking the common man for granted gave him a startling revelation. His work is now for me, and I, with humility, take his reigns and learn this, that all bridges will one day be crossed again, so be careful of the paths we leave behind.