Close your eyes. Open your ears. Hear the song given to my heart.
Do you hear the sad saxophone squeezing out its cry in the night? Looking for someone to hear it, to appreciate it.
A song that sweeps in so slowly, humbly making its entrance. Soft whispers from the violins, humming almost timidly.
Are your eyes still closed? Is your heart listening to the song my heart’s been given? For now there is a bold crashing of the confident, cymbals as they brilliantly change the course of the speed. No sound can compare, white light reflects off of them as they collide.
88 keys stepping in timeless rhythm. Marching, climbing dutifully. The silence in between each note filled with the graceful harp, stunning and wise.
Can hear hear the happy flute flutter by? Tiptoeing it’s way to the clarity of the clarinets. Their sound so clear and conscise.
The French horn making it’s sorrowful, confused cry…clings to the tempo to try to keep up. Little does it know it soon has a solo that can only be filled by it’s distinct sound.
Along comes a piccalo, such an amuzing piece. Never could a piccolo make a sad song.
Lastly, the long strum of a cello sets the tone in the background refusing to be ignored.
The song of my heart…Can you interpret it? I will interpret it tomorrow after I give you a chance to read between the lines.
Your guilt, your games, they haunted me. Over and over again, the same tricks.
I would play fool to your folly. Not knowing how to put a halt to your trickery.
Lies, deception, manipulation, all passed out freely. Handed to us unexpected ones, who had their hands out for something different.
Innocence, naivety, (or was it plain faith in the loved one?) Stripped, stolen too early.
An empty shell of what should be, walked toward the Majestic Presence.
Flowing rivers of living water freely handed out to the needy. The empty. Me.
The deceived now free and enlightened; gives to small hands held out. The enlightened now onto your trickery and deceit.
Breaking the cycle, new blood traveling, a beautiful family tree stands strong.
You can still have those living waters flow in you. It’s not too late to put down your hand of deceit and proclaim, “I fold!”
Go unto Him, for you labor and are burdened. Mom, Go before it’s too late….take up His yoke; He will give you rest.
Sheryl’s Daily Word prompt: Haunted
The eye stings as if it’s being pierced, hurt. Water flows behind, taking the path of least resistance, it’s usual plight.
The water is hot as it spills over the eyelid and glides down the slope of a cold cheek.
Now more and more comes from behind, pushing it’s way out and down to wait it’s turn, dripping on the edge of the chin to be forever blotted out by cottony tissue.
The water doesn’t mind if it has to linger, pooling and waiting it’s turn for twenty years to finally ever be released.
Tears of remorse
Tears of regret
Tears of loss
Tears of shame
Tears of sorrow, brought to God can bring…
Tears of Joy, Tears of happiness, Tears of healing, Tears of healing and Tears of love♡.
Daily Word Prompt: Linger