music

A string
gently plucked
hammered in a whirl
of thunder
painting pictures
with horsehair
and a thousand tiny vibrations
voices
from a realm
known only by our souls
and the Creator
calling
screaming
whispering
to those who listen.

For the sake of a post. :-D

This one is dedicated to Brittany, lol
You are not the only one who has weird thoughts a little too late at night. :-D

I walked
My destination
Nowhere in particular
I talked
one sided conversations
My thoughts were quite conspicular
The empty air
at times worked best
As subject to my musings
It always stared
Intent interest
At my complex confuselings
Ah yes tis true
Some raised eyebrows
Some quick and awkward glances
They had no clue
I did expound
on Elephantilish romances
Senile, you say?
If but you knew
The half of what I'd like to share
Perhaps you'd stay
And listen to
My conversations with the air.

Freedom

She walks a long dirt road
Her bare feet leaving scuff marks on the dry soil
and softly crunching the leaves in her path
She knows not where she heads
Only that the wind and sunshine tell her she must
Her small feet walk faster
Drumming on the hard earth
The song of Freedom

She walks in endless circles
Her feet no longer small
Trapped by winters cold embrace
And the constraints of responsibility
She knows not why she walks
Around and around again
She has no reasons for life's dull equation
Only that she must

She walks away now
Taking with her only the ever present mud
Sticking to her shoes
And her heavy heart
She knows not where she goes this time
Only that this road will not lead home.
The only sounds is the mud squishing beneath her
And the birds beginning their songs of spring.

She walks the city streets
Her heels beating a tattoo on the gray pavement
Matching the hollow beating of her heart
Both drowned out by the songs of the city
All vying with each other for her attention
She knows not which song to follow, only that
The song of summer is now quiet in her heart
Waiting for the silent moment that never comes.

She walks quickly
Her tired feet trying their best
To run away from the slavery of her mind
The songs of the city have turned to screams
She knows not where she is walking to
Only that there is no escape
The chill of the autumn wind
Wraps it's icy fingers around the body she now hates.

One last time she walks
This time she knows her destination
Trudging through the snow and wind
Howling to match the screaming of her mind
Filling with their cold dances
The footprints left as she walks
The only way out is now clear
As the icicles hanging from the roof
Of the Church she passes on her way
She knows not why her feet stop
Beneath it's tall steeple
Only that the song she hears inside
Is a song she once knew
The song of Freedom

Take her furniture, and search the house for Bibles!

Said the commanding guard. Tears filled Mrs. Lu Ying's eyes as she watched four Communist guards ransack her home.

"I found it!" yelled the guard. But just as the guard held out the Bible to give it to his commanding officer, Mrs. Lu Ying bravely grabbed it back from him.
"This book contains all I need to know about my dear Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and I do not want to part with it," she said passionately while holding her Bible close to her chest.
"Take her outside" yelled the commander. "We'll see how long she wants to hold on to her book about Jesus."
The four Communist guards took Mrs. Ying into the street, mocked her, spat on her, and beat her until she could no longer stand. "Do you still believe in your book of myths?" laughed the guards.
Through a swollen, bleeding mouth, still holding her Bible, Lu Ying repeated her statement of faith.
The guards grabbed an iron bar and smashed the bones in her hand, causing her now crippled hands to lose their grip. The Bible fell to the street and was confiscated.
Nearly twenty years later, a mission courier delivered Mrs. Ying a Bible. Her eyes filled with tears. She clutched it with her deformed hands and whispered, "This time I'm not letting go."

Many people have a full grasp on a half-truth. Whether they are athiests or agnostics, Buddhists or Hindus, all the dedication they can muster cannot transform their false beliefs into facts. Their sincerity is no substitute for the lack of substance. In contrast, Christians have the unchanging certainty of God's Word to back up their beliefs, and they know that God's Word is truth. We cannot afford to to handle the Bible carelessly, though others come against us with all their might. Are you as tenacious in holding to God's Word as you hold to other valuable possessions in your life, such as money or your reputation? Let all else slip from your grip; yet hold onto God's Word at all costs.

~Taken from my Devotional: Extreme Devotion, by VOM