Darkened dance floor
How can I refuse?
Your outreaching hand is too inviting.
A junkie heart like mine will open wide to any fix.
Together but lonely
I'm sorry
I don't want to take any more of your time.
Time. Time.
Dragging on....
We're keeping time
The dim light dances shadows across your face
And mine too, I'm sure
And we can't see.
Not really.
But we feel... yes!
The rhythm below, aching, beating...
The rhythm.
A toast! From one member of the trade to another.
Dizzing, this day to night business
I'm keeping lonely count
Yet my laughter fails to scare away the ghost of sunset past
The grey old-person ache
Of trying so hard to love you
Eyes sparkling, but not for me
Mine turn away.
Spinning, spinning, always spinning...
Head, feet, always spinning.
Leave the dancing to the others
It's the rails for me
Cold new rhythm to help me keep count
Till the end of these merciless days.
Do you see?
Face to the wind...
Do you see?
Not hiding anymore
Do you see me?
See?
See.
~*~*~*~*~*~
I am still falling, love.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
The Chronicles of Pimlico
Tonight I'm walking. Tonight it's Mill Avenue - and the gentle rain has smeared together all the colors and lights and made downtown Tempe one bright, bleeding, exciting, chaotic mess. Surprisingly unlike the sky you've dressed up for the evening... one bright milky eye and her ebony neck adorned with lustrous pearl. Leaning against one particularly carved and beat-up tree and pulling my faded jacket closer to keep out the chill, I fit in nicely with my surroundings. A few dreds later and I could be jamming on an old threadbare guitar with the hobo fellas down the way. Focus, Hannah, focus.
I constitute the prayer team this evening, and am on the Avenue for a reason.... the Gospel. Stationing myself just out of range of suspicion, I plant my two feet firmly into the pavement and do my best to listen in on the girls' conversation with an unlikely couple on the street corner.
15 minutes later were done, and I glance back for a moment at two people who have just heard the news of their lives. There's surprisingly little jumping going on - and it makes me wonder about you sometimes. Why make me free? I'm of no merit and relatively little use to you. Why me?
The girls' eyes are bright, their steps brisk as they pace past me. The reverie breaks and I jog to catch up and catch the moment's conversation.
'He seemed pretty receptive at first, right?'
'I thought so, but she was listening pretty intently...'
'I know, and I loved that verse you quoted... where was that?!'
My personal favorites are next - the hobo slash hippie slash really fun homeless people. Jack is noodling some pensive tune to our left; to the right some slicked-back preppy student is unwisely picking a fight with another particularly feisty one of them. Somehow my ingenious mother remembered a kind and mysterious gift of several Starbucks gift cards someone had left on our doorstep... pretty soon I'm flying back across the street with eager orders from the posse for hot chocolates and straight black coffees, leaving a couple brave girls to befriend them in the meantime.
Twenty long minutes later we're back, bearing gifts... and Meredith is busy listening to some elaborate and highly amusing shpeel that somehow connected Jesus, reincarnation, and the supernatural workings of certain healing "herbs". Finally...
'Thanks,' drawled our verbose preacher friend - 'not many people care to sit and listen to what we have to say. Keep blessing people.' Meredith's confused countenance suddenly brightens. We hug them goodbye.
'Just remember,' Jack calls after us, 'Jesus was a vagabond, too.'
Days like these make me love the world I live in. It's a desperate thing, and wants loving. Its own unloveliness, though, is its own ally... for all who weren't serious about doing so retract their outreach quickly upon contact. Loving something just the way it is; that's no small thing. It takes some time to see things through.
Reminds me of him and reminds me of you.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Let us suppose we are confronted with a desperate thing - say Pimlico (a resort in London formerly celebrated for its many pubs, ale, cakes, etc.) It is not enough for a man to disapprove of imlico: in that case he will merely cut his throat or move to Chelsea. Not, certainly, is it enough for a man to approve of Pimlico, for then it will remain Pimlico, which would be awful. The only way out of it seems to be for somebody to love Pimlico: to love it with a transcendental tie and without any earthly reason. If there arose a man who loved Pimlico, then Pimlico would rise into ivory towers and golden pinnacles; Pimlico would attire herself as a woman does when she is loved. ...
The man will improve the place who loves it without a reason.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It's always good strong night before these moments come. The ancients said that the moon lured the loons outside... when the sun in all its revealing splendor had set and the "common" man - historic regulator of the "normal" - to his safe, normal little abode and safe, normal little bed (simply another form of lunacy)... forth they would flock, dancing upon the well-walked stones that held no place for them in the day, bathing in the dark light of Hanwell. Tonight I carry on the tradition and watch the gibbous moon, drunken and reeling across her canvas of night. She smiles rather understandingly back at me, and sends a few extra rays by way of lightyear to play tricks in my head and across the lawn.
The busy tempo of swing music wafts out from the dance hall just across the patio; from my picnic table bench a few strains greet me, mixing with the little breezes, tugging on wisps of hair and scarf and adding to the general otherworldliness of the moment. Distracting from the tone are the pair of couples situated in the grass - both intent on showing the other up in a playful competition of aerial dance moves. Oh! She's in his arms, now she's down.. did he really just throw her? Down again, her feet planted - the next routine begins. Any other day I'd be in the thick of it - laughing and jumping, allowing one or two gentlemen to inadvertently drop me on occasion, and adding to the racket.
In my head now I'm everywhere else. (I shouldn't make a habit of prolonging my stay there.) Running. Running. I can't get the picture out of my head... head to the sky, legs coursing, arms flailing, gloriously breathless. I know something's waiting at the finish line, 'cause there's a knowing smile across my face and fire in my veins.
Tonight my reason drives me mad. The heavens and their intricacies refuse to bend themselves into my head, or organize themselves in the lines I have drawn for them... and what's more, my actual, practical, for-real life isn't either. More irritating still.
'Every man must choose his world.' How can I when I am so uncomfortably suspended between the two given me?
I stand forever between the dreaming and the coming true.
Someone grabs my hand and pulls me up off my bench and towards the dance floor. My eyes stray back to the rays of moonshine behind me. She laughs at me the age-old laugh. My old Spanish professor would say 'Mas sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo.' (The devil knows more for being old than for being the devil.) She knows I'll never quite make sense of it, and grins quite knowledgeably at the "troubles" of youth. Perhaps that is the magical and frustrating glory of living.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was the Unicorn who summed up what everyone was feeling. He stamped his right fore-hoof on the ground and neighed and then cried:
"I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land that I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till know. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this. Bree-hee-hee! Come further up, come further in!"
He shook his mane and sprang forward into a great gallop - a Unicorn's gallop, which in our world, would have carried him out of sight in a few moments. But now a most strange thing happened. Everyone else began to run, and they found, to their astonishment that they could keep up with him: not only the Dogs and the humans but even fat little Puzzle and Poggin the dwarf. The air flew in their faces as if they were driving fast in a car without a wind screen. The country flew past as if they were seeing it from the windows of an express train. Faster and faster they raced, but no one got hot or tired or out of breath.
If one could run without getting tired, I don't think one would often want to do anything else.
I constitute the prayer team this evening, and am on the Avenue for a reason.... the Gospel. Stationing myself just out of range of suspicion, I plant my two feet firmly into the pavement and do my best to listen in on the girls' conversation with an unlikely couple on the street corner.
15 minutes later were done, and I glance back for a moment at two people who have just heard the news of their lives. There's surprisingly little jumping going on - and it makes me wonder about you sometimes. Why make me free? I'm of no merit and relatively little use to you. Why me?
The girls' eyes are bright, their steps brisk as they pace past me. The reverie breaks and I jog to catch up and catch the moment's conversation.
'He seemed pretty receptive at first, right?'
'I thought so, but she was listening pretty intently...'
'I know, and I loved that verse you quoted... where was that?!'
My personal favorites are next - the hobo slash hippie slash really fun homeless people. Jack is noodling some pensive tune to our left; to the right some slicked-back preppy student is unwisely picking a fight with another particularly feisty one of them. Somehow my ingenious mother remembered a kind and mysterious gift of several Starbucks gift cards someone had left on our doorstep... pretty soon I'm flying back across the street with eager orders from the posse for hot chocolates and straight black coffees, leaving a couple brave girls to befriend them in the meantime.
Twenty long minutes later we're back, bearing gifts... and Meredith is busy listening to some elaborate and highly amusing shpeel that somehow connected Jesus, reincarnation, and the supernatural workings of certain healing "herbs". Finally...
'Thanks,' drawled our verbose preacher friend - 'not many people care to sit and listen to what we have to say. Keep blessing people.' Meredith's confused countenance suddenly brightens. We hug them goodbye.
'Just remember,' Jack calls after us, 'Jesus was a vagabond, too.'
Days like these make me love the world I live in. It's a desperate thing, and wants loving. Its own unloveliness, though, is its own ally... for all who weren't serious about doing so retract their outreach quickly upon contact. Loving something just the way it is; that's no small thing. It takes some time to see things through.
Reminds me of him and reminds me of you.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Let us suppose we are confronted with a desperate thing - say Pimlico (a resort in London formerly celebrated for its many pubs, ale, cakes, etc.) It is not enough for a man to disapprove of imlico: in that case he will merely cut his throat or move to Chelsea. Not, certainly, is it enough for a man to approve of Pimlico, for then it will remain Pimlico, which would be awful. The only way out of it seems to be for somebody to love Pimlico: to love it with a transcendental tie and without any earthly reason. If there arose a man who loved Pimlico, then Pimlico would rise into ivory towers and golden pinnacles; Pimlico would attire herself as a woman does when she is loved. ...
The man will improve the place who loves it without a reason.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It's always good strong night before these moments come. The ancients said that the moon lured the loons outside... when the sun in all its revealing splendor had set and the "common" man - historic regulator of the "normal" - to his safe, normal little abode and safe, normal little bed (simply another form of lunacy)... forth they would flock, dancing upon the well-walked stones that held no place for them in the day, bathing in the dark light of Hanwell. Tonight I carry on the tradition and watch the gibbous moon, drunken and reeling across her canvas of night. She smiles rather understandingly back at me, and sends a few extra rays by way of lightyear to play tricks in my head and across the lawn.
The busy tempo of swing music wafts out from the dance hall just across the patio; from my picnic table bench a few strains greet me, mixing with the little breezes, tugging on wisps of hair and scarf and adding to the general otherworldliness of the moment. Distracting from the tone are the pair of couples situated in the grass - both intent on showing the other up in a playful competition of aerial dance moves. Oh! She's in his arms, now she's down.. did he really just throw her? Down again, her feet planted - the next routine begins. Any other day I'd be in the thick of it - laughing and jumping, allowing one or two gentlemen to inadvertently drop me on occasion, and adding to the racket.
In my head now I'm everywhere else. (I shouldn't make a habit of prolonging my stay there.) Running. Running. I can't get the picture out of my head... head to the sky, legs coursing, arms flailing, gloriously breathless. I know something's waiting at the finish line, 'cause there's a knowing smile across my face and fire in my veins.
Tonight my reason drives me mad. The heavens and their intricacies refuse to bend themselves into my head, or organize themselves in the lines I have drawn for them... and what's more, my actual, practical, for-real life isn't either. More irritating still.
'Every man must choose his world.' How can I when I am so uncomfortably suspended between the two given me?
I stand forever between the dreaming and the coming true.
Someone grabs my hand and pulls me up off my bench and towards the dance floor. My eyes stray back to the rays of moonshine behind me. She laughs at me the age-old laugh. My old Spanish professor would say 'Mas sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo.' (The devil knows more for being old than for being the devil.) She knows I'll never quite make sense of it, and grins quite knowledgeably at the "troubles" of youth. Perhaps that is the magical and frustrating glory of living.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was the Unicorn who summed up what everyone was feeling. He stamped his right fore-hoof on the ground and neighed and then cried:
"I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land that I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till know. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this. Bree-hee-hee! Come further up, come further in!"
He shook his mane and sprang forward into a great gallop - a Unicorn's gallop, which in our world, would have carried him out of sight in a few moments. But now a most strange thing happened. Everyone else began to run, and they found, to their astonishment that they could keep up with him: not only the Dogs and the humans but even fat little Puzzle and Poggin the dwarf. The air flew in their faces as if they were driving fast in a car without a wind screen. The country flew past as if they were seeing it from the windows of an express train. Faster and faster they raced, but no one got hot or tired or out of breath.
If one could run without getting tired, I don't think one would often want to do anything else.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
A Fresh Arrow to a Comfortable Soul
'We are so utterly ordinary, so commonplace, while we profess to know a Power the Twenty- (FIRST) century does not reckon with. But we are 'harmless', and therefore unharmed. We are spiritual pacifists, non-militants, conscientious objectors in this battle-to-the-death with principalities and powers in high places. Meekness must be had for contact with men, but brass, outspoken boldness is required to take part in the comradeship of the Cross. We are 'sideliners' - coaching and criticizing the real wrestlers while content to sit by and leave the enemies of God unchallenged. The world cannot hate us; we are too much like its own. Oh, that God would make us DANGEROUS!'
~ Jim Elliot
~ Jim Elliot
Monday, December 03, 2007
Notes From the Thick of Battle
You said the straight and narrow
But this road's crooked; broad.
Whispers I heard of peace...
All this naught but untrue and odd.
I must say how mortally tired I am
Of trying to find You here
Where once I did see remnants
I wade in poisoned pools of fear.
Earthly lovers seem to fade
As wanted as they're true
And all I hope: to catch anew
To catch for me a glimpse of you.
I once was so verbose
And now I have no tongue.
Songs and rhymes -
Now hardened times -
Undefined and still unsung.
You used to give me words -
Ah! How we used to play
'Cross meadows of song and consciousness
From falling night till day.
My rhymes are now gone.
And that train! That train!
That ghastly, that condemned train!
Condemned to be running through my head
To be green grass and sinking lead -
The ghost of futures yet untold
(And damn my fickle heart: it's sold)
To whistle tunes that I can't play -
Can't seem to keep these wolves at bay -
Are they his? Or are they Thine?
Or are they all invention mine?
The barriers you once put up he's now torn down.
Or was it me?
(He and I look an awful lot alike these days.)
Potential's all that's left of me.
Hellish lovers seem to fade
As wanted as they're true.
And all I hope; to catch anew
To catch for me a glimpse of You.
Found and founded:
The things I miss most.
Oh for when peace was somehow my boast.
But this road's crooked; broad.
Whispers I heard of peace...
All this naught but untrue and odd.
I must say how mortally tired I am
Of trying to find You here
Where once I did see remnants
I wade in poisoned pools of fear.
Earthly lovers seem to fade
As wanted as they're true
And all I hope: to catch anew
To catch for me a glimpse of you.
I once was so verbose
And now I have no tongue.
Songs and rhymes -
Now hardened times -
Undefined and still unsung.
You used to give me words -
Ah! How we used to play
'Cross meadows of song and consciousness
From falling night till day.
My rhymes are now gone.
And that train! That train!
That ghastly, that condemned train!
Condemned to be running through my head
To be green grass and sinking lead -
The ghost of futures yet untold
(And damn my fickle heart: it's sold)
To whistle tunes that I can't play -
Can't seem to keep these wolves at bay -
Are they his? Or are they Thine?
Or are they all invention mine?
The barriers you once put up he's now torn down.
Or was it me?
(He and I look an awful lot alike these days.)
Potential's all that's left of me.
Hellish lovers seem to fade
As wanted as they're true.
And all I hope; to catch anew
To catch for me a glimpse of You.
Found and founded:
The things I miss most.
Oh for when peace was somehow my boast.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Blog Makeover
Hi friends! This is your official notice of a blog makeover.
First, I want to apologize for posting once every three months or so when I have something remarkable and world-changing to say. One of my very honest friends jokingly described each post as "a systematic description of the meaning of the world in 8 short pages"... or something to that extent.
I'm here to change all that.
I have no idea if anyone still reads this, but I'd like to get some interaction. Graduating from college / figuring the world and life out is not as easy as it might sound, so I like all the advice I can get. My posts will be shorter. I'll be asking questions. PLEASE COMMENT even if you merely want to say... "Hannah, you're pretty much an idiot," or something to that lovely effect. Honesty is a good thing. ;)
One of my friends described an ideal Christian faith not as 'reformed'... but 'reforming'. Constantly seeking out Scripture, constantly being willing to rework our understanding of God to fit the God of the Scripture. That's what I'm all about.
So let's do it. Talk to me. ;)
First, I want to apologize for posting once every three months or so when I have something remarkable and world-changing to say. One of my very honest friends jokingly described each post as "a systematic description of the meaning of the world in 8 short pages"... or something to that extent.
I'm here to change all that.
I have no idea if anyone still reads this, but I'd like to get some interaction. Graduating from college / figuring the world and life out is not as easy as it might sound, so I like all the advice I can get. My posts will be shorter. I'll be asking questions. PLEASE COMMENT even if you merely want to say... "Hannah, you're pretty much an idiot," or something to that lovely effect. Honesty is a good thing. ;)
One of my friends described an ideal Christian faith not as 'reformed'... but 'reforming'. Constantly seeking out Scripture, constantly being willing to rework our understanding of God to fit the God of the Scripture. That's what I'm all about.
So let's do it. Talk to me. ;)
Monday, November 26, 2007
Trekking Through Shadowlands
I lay in the back of the truck and wished that it would go on forever.
It had been a long day… a long, hard, confusing sort of day… a day that you come away from shaking your head and wondering what just happened. One of those days when you search really hard for peace… but it seems to stay so out of reach. I was hurt and baffled and scared – very scared – afraid that that which I hold dear might be slowly slipping from me.
Uncertainty frightens me. Frenzy takes over. I try so hard to fix things in my mind but in the end I just create dragons… dragons of shadow and mystery and fancy. Sometimes my shadow dragons frighten me because their form seems so clear on the wall in front of me, all of their menacing features so real and tangible – even before they are seen. Sometimes they are just a nagging dread, sitting in the back of my mind, tormenting me with hints and whispers; smoke and echoing lies. Sometimes I wake up and realize that the dark form on the wall before me is really just my own shadow.
Sometimes I fight me.
I’m young and I love young people. I love seeing hope and ambition and potential in its first budding stage. I love nothing so well as a starry-eyed dreamer… one who not only watches the stars but reaches for them as well. Yet my heart aches when those that I love seem to wander, to founder, to fall. Sometimes our endless searching for a path becomes our very downfall… we’re always looking and never finding. Someone in a movie once said… “Young people always want to be traveling. Even if they find food and a warm fire and kindness, they wish to be gone.” Perhaps our over-worked imaginations tend to get the better of us… whatever we do not yet have becomes our object of worship. The unattainable is always bigger.
Better. Brighter.
Sometimes we forget what we have.
If you’ve followed my thought life through my posts at all throughout the past year, you may know that my topic of choice has been waiting. I feel like I’m always waiting. I wanted to see the world; to see what’s going to happen; to have the future now. Endless opportunities, possibilities seemed to present themselves… I felt like a kid in a candy shop, struggling so with the idea of having to pick only one that I picked none at all. Trust was key; my heart was frail; just when I thought I had faith the Lord would throw something else into my life and I would fall to the ground with a thud. Pictures come to mind of wings being trimmed; plants being pruned; a brave, new little tree kept from erring by a sturdy post in the ground. Its great shows of bravery have only proved how young and green and inexperienced it is in this fine art of growing. And though that bright yellow tape may feel like a hindrance, a roadblock, a ball and chain… in the end it keeps the tree from falling right over in its overexuberant zeal to get somewhere.
It had been a long day… a long, hard, confusing sort of day… and I climbed into the back of that old truck for a moment alone. I stopped for a moment to breathe. No proper words came to mind… but I just started talking. Talking to One who hears. I talked and talked and talked – all about life, about my fears, about the future, about my desire to find it… to know how I should live, personally, in light of this great salvation. I talked until there were no words left and then I stopped for a moment to wait. I know THE way… but what is my way? We are each given gifts, abilities, lives very different from those next to us in order that we might bring glory to God in a manner entirely our own.
Where to, God? Where to?
Oh Captain. Oh Captain. Guide me. What direction? Hear now my declaration of dependence.
The stars seemed brighter tonight than usual. Almost closer. In the distance a train sounded. In the air tension; something hung in the balance. My mind, frenzied, kept reevaluating, rethinking – still searching. Then, suddenly, a few short, quiet words…Be more quiet now and wait for a voice to say…Be more quiet now and wait for a voice to say... My mind stopped running and one memory pierced my mind with sharp force.
A dark night. Stars as well. Open sky. Caborca. Another life-changing question. The same words, the same melody playing softly, slowly, clearly in my head. Be more quiet now.
Nights like this make my soul forget fear.
I lay in the back of the truck and wished that it would go on forever.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ecclesiastes 8:5-6
It had been a long day… a long, hard, confusing sort of day… a day that you come away from shaking your head and wondering what just happened. One of those days when you search really hard for peace… but it seems to stay so out of reach. I was hurt and baffled and scared – very scared – afraid that that which I hold dear might be slowly slipping from me.
Uncertainty frightens me. Frenzy takes over. I try so hard to fix things in my mind but in the end I just create dragons… dragons of shadow and mystery and fancy. Sometimes my shadow dragons frighten me because their form seems so clear on the wall in front of me, all of their menacing features so real and tangible – even before they are seen. Sometimes they are just a nagging dread, sitting in the back of my mind, tormenting me with hints and whispers; smoke and echoing lies. Sometimes I wake up and realize that the dark form on the wall before me is really just my own shadow.
Sometimes I fight me.
I’m young and I love young people. I love seeing hope and ambition and potential in its first budding stage. I love nothing so well as a starry-eyed dreamer… one who not only watches the stars but reaches for them as well. Yet my heart aches when those that I love seem to wander, to founder, to fall. Sometimes our endless searching for a path becomes our very downfall… we’re always looking and never finding. Someone in a movie once said… “Young people always want to be traveling. Even if they find food and a warm fire and kindness, they wish to be gone.” Perhaps our over-worked imaginations tend to get the better of us… whatever we do not yet have becomes our object of worship. The unattainable is always bigger.
Better. Brighter.
Sometimes we forget what we have.
If you’ve followed my thought life through my posts at all throughout the past year, you may know that my topic of choice has been waiting. I feel like I’m always waiting. I wanted to see the world; to see what’s going to happen; to have the future now. Endless opportunities, possibilities seemed to present themselves… I felt like a kid in a candy shop, struggling so with the idea of having to pick only one that I picked none at all. Trust was key; my heart was frail; just when I thought I had faith the Lord would throw something else into my life and I would fall to the ground with a thud. Pictures come to mind of wings being trimmed; plants being pruned; a brave, new little tree kept from erring by a sturdy post in the ground. Its great shows of bravery have only proved how young and green and inexperienced it is in this fine art of growing. And though that bright yellow tape may feel like a hindrance, a roadblock, a ball and chain… in the end it keeps the tree from falling right over in its overexuberant zeal to get somewhere.
It had been a long day… a long, hard, confusing sort of day… and I climbed into the back of that old truck for a moment alone. I stopped for a moment to breathe. No proper words came to mind… but I just started talking. Talking to One who hears. I talked and talked and talked – all about life, about my fears, about the future, about my desire to find it… to know how I should live, personally, in light of this great salvation. I talked until there were no words left and then I stopped for a moment to wait. I know THE way… but what is my way? We are each given gifts, abilities, lives very different from those next to us in order that we might bring glory to God in a manner entirely our own.
Where to, God? Where to?
Oh Captain. Oh Captain. Guide me. What direction? Hear now my declaration of dependence.
The stars seemed brighter tonight than usual. Almost closer. In the distance a train sounded. In the air tension; something hung in the balance. My mind, frenzied, kept reevaluating, rethinking – still searching. Then, suddenly, a few short, quiet words…Be more quiet now and wait for a voice to say…Be more quiet now and wait for a voice to say... My mind stopped running and one memory pierced my mind with sharp force.
A dark night. Stars as well. Open sky. Caborca. Another life-changing question. The same words, the same melody playing softly, slowly, clearly in my head. Be more quiet now.
Nights like this make my soul forget fear.
I lay in the back of the truck and wished that it would go on forever.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ecclesiastes 8:5-6
Thursday, November 22, 2007
The Game
Come and play a while with me, my friend –
Games are free; I’m yours on lend.
We could try things out and see –
Let’s see just how you look on me –
Then, just like that, we’ll turn away
A true love lasted just one day.
You’d think a day would be alright
A few short hours, sunrise to night
But no! Eternity within in our hearts
Gets weary soon of these false starts
Summer tears can last through fall…
Deep roots of pain outlast it all.
Sorry, friend, I tried to play along
To match your voice in this stupid song
But the lock and latch imbedded deep
Now I’m convinced you’re all I need
Until another comes along
To try on me another song.
The music starts; now soft and low
You beckon me to come below
It takes all of me to turn away
(Torture greets me in your face!)
Arousing prematurely is something we do well…
I should have looked into your eyes before the darkness fell.
Come and play a while with me, my friend
Can we forget in our world of pretend?
We could try things out and see…
We could try things out and see…
Painted smile is all that’s left of me.
Games are free; I’m yours on lend.
We could try things out and see –
Let’s see just how you look on me –
Then, just like that, we’ll turn away
A true love lasted just one day.
You’d think a day would be alright
A few short hours, sunrise to night
But no! Eternity within in our hearts
Gets weary soon of these false starts
Summer tears can last through fall…
Deep roots of pain outlast it all.
Sorry, friend, I tried to play along
To match your voice in this stupid song
But the lock and latch imbedded deep
Now I’m convinced you’re all I need
Until another comes along
To try on me another song.
The music starts; now soft and low
You beckon me to come below
It takes all of me to turn away
(Torture greets me in your face!)
Arousing prematurely is something we do well…
I should have looked into your eyes before the darkness fell.
Come and play a while with me, my friend
Can we forget in our world of pretend?
We could try things out and see…
We could try things out and see…
Painted smile is all that’s left of me.
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