the train rolled down the tracks.
an old man - not nearly as old as he looked played a guitar with fierce passion.
the passing winds blew leaves around the boxcar.
clickity clack. clickity clack.
time faded to black.
day fell. night rose.
in the distance: rain. thunder. reality.
the joyous times and restless souls of youth cashed out on the curb.
brokenness. bottles. glass. hearts ripped.
"You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me"
she said with ease.
I was transported from place to place; generation to generation.
She slipped. I fell.
and with that a strong goodbye was felt like a slap across the face.
the truth of the matter was not elected but rejected.
and the wind cried tears of despair.
yet, the weight is a gift.
to be carried with rejoicing...
because suffering produces perseverance.
and hope does not disappoint us.
I hope for the sweet sounds of the passing train.
coming to carry me home.
"Lord, remember me, way beyond the blue."
Once upon a summertime, if you recall,
the flowers were in bloom and life was living right before our eyes.
you could see it, feel it, smell it, love it.
and a sliver of the moon is gently resting in the northern sky tonite.
as the old man strums the strings,
fingers connected to his soul.
rhythm and poetry... without any words.
The trees whispered my name.
The fields of resting flowers agreed.
Peace was entering... would I embrace it...
or ask it to leave?
Clickity clack. Clickity clack.
I'm going up yonder.
with Hope to carry on.
She returned in the morning,
walked beside me until the pain dissipated.
Reminding me that He reached down for me,
lifted me up out of the muck and mire.
He cleared away the mud from my eyes - and restored a piece of me...
the peace in me.
An the whistled blew... again.