I am simply and quite potently tired of being trapped in this world of indecision.
I make decisions and pursue goals and do all that I can do, but while it may not be obvious to all, my heart is seldom in what I do these days. It is held in reserve, waiting constantly for what it is already attached to. How can I disassociate my heart's longing? I have tried and tried, but to no avail. Time, they say, will cure all wounds, but I see time causing nothing but a festering rot, an infection that threatens to reach to the very core of my being, unless it is cured.
What is the cure? To study the root of the wound? To open the wound up for the public to see? To apply all new salves, herbs, and creams, hoping that one of them might take away the deepening tendrils of dark rot? To walk the dusty road of each day until it has become a path solid enough for an elephant to tread, hoping that somewhere, somehow, God will provide release?
I pray for an answer, I pray that my messages be delivered, I pray that this wound can heal.
Perhaps in order for it to heal it must be bled again.
To throw myself into the flames is what I often wish
Allowing their cleansing fire to burn
Burning through the past, the present and the future
Leaving this world and its indecision
To float as ash upon the wind
I am fortunate, and life has been kind. Things are going well, and all is as it should be.
As I am cleansed and purified in the light of each new day, the darkness comes nearer and nearer to the surface.
I make decisions and pursue goals and do all that I can do, but while it may not be obvious to all, my heart is seldom in what I do these days. It is held in reserve, waiting constantly for what it is already attached to. How can I disassociate my heart's longing? I have tried and tried, but to no avail. Time, they say, will cure all wounds, but I see time causing nothing but a festering rot, an infection that threatens to reach to the very core of my being, unless it is cured.
What is the cure? To study the root of the wound? To open the wound up for the public to see? To apply all new salves, herbs, and creams, hoping that one of them might take away the deepening tendrils of dark rot? To walk the dusty road of each day until it has become a path solid enough for an elephant to tread, hoping that somewhere, somehow, God will provide release?
I pray for an answer, I pray that my messages be delivered, I pray that this wound can heal.
Perhaps in order for it to heal it must be bled again.
To throw myself into the flames is what I often wish
Allowing their cleansing fire to burn
Burning through the past, the present and the future
Leaving this world and its indecision
To float as ash upon the wind
I am fortunate, and life has been kind. Things are going well, and all is as it should be.
As I am cleansed and purified in the light of each new day, the darkness comes nearer and nearer to the surface.
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