A song for you…

 

 

It’s empty in the valley of your heart
The sun, it rises slowly as you walk
Away from all the fears
And all the faults you’ve left behind
The harvest left no food for you to eat
You cannibal, you meat-eater, you see
But I have seen the same
I know the shame in your defeat
But I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again
‘Cause I have other things to fill my time
You take what is yours and I’ll take mine
Now let me at the truth
Which will refresh my broken mind
So tie me to a post and block my ears
I can see widows and orphans through my tears
I know my call despite my faults
And despite my growing fears
But I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again
So come out of your cave walking on your hands
And see the world hanging upside down
You can understand dependence
When you know the maker’s land
So make your siren’s call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say
‘Cause I need freedom now
And I need to know how
To live my life as it’s meant to be
And I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again
– FlorenceT
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Picture in my mind

Postaday – Frame of Mind

A willowy woman of small stature sitting atop a mountain with a straight back, her legs crossed and her hands resting on her knee, palms up.  Dressed in black yoga pants and a white mid-riff top, her long jet black hair is being blown by the gentle breeze, not too strong to disturb her repose and yet strong enough to whip her hair into disarray.  She is facing her gaze, and around her is turbulence – the ominous tornado swirling in the distant.  With her eyes closed, her face reveals a calm in stark contrast. Her posture in silent resistance to the impending storm, engendering a welcoming stillness.  The soft set of her mouth belies the certainty that all is well.

The mountain top on which she sits is rocky, with tufts of grass weed brown and weary interspersed, not a soft space to be seen. Nowhere to lay down, to curl up to rest.  In the distance, there is the dark shadow of more peaks, more challenges.

Harsh and forbidding, the grey landscape is nevertheless familiar. In that familiarity is the feeling of safety and security, for she knows she can, as she had before, withstand the tornado arriving.  For it too will depart, leaving her yet again resolute, stronger in the knowledge of greater overcoming.

A painting of black hues…