Hanging By Threads

clothesline

Stumblings, falterings, graspings for heir
There go eye…
With a balancing beam a gymnast
Could do a complete routine upon
Protruding from my own ‘I’
Tweezing splinters from others’ sight
That I am loathe to admit
As if looking down
From much vaunted heights
There’s an irony
Not overlooked
A hypocrisy…inescapable
A look on my face
I sometimes cannot detect
Unless shown to me
Then the wait is imminent
The fill
The wash the agitate
The rinse
A spinning drum
Wherein…breath taken
I tremble and shake
Removed into silence
As the rumble abates
Hung out to dry
For all to see…humbly
Through it all
Comes this gentle breeze
In the Son
In the Light
Pinned to a line
A warmth renews me
Folded in neatly
Collapsing in upon self
And lovingly set aside
to the tune
of the gasp that gently dies before
an accordion’s final wistful wheezy sigh
Till worn again
In time…
Colors fade
Threads thin
Wrinkles set in
The cycle
More wondrous
Than vicious
More of a thorn to bear
Than malicious
Less flower in bloom
More root
Than stem
More button down
Than crew
Or leaf
Or pleat
Or cuffs at hems
Just outer garments to be shed
And renew in due season
Painstakingly straining out impurities
Funneled from a Crown
Out of a head
And into a heart
The unseen
Beautiful
Glorious
The scenes of
once old familial surroundings
No longer akin nor beholden
come to mind
in a flashback maelstrom of olden days
Faded allure
whores of yore
Men stoic in mien
Deceptively furtive for good reason
Nefarious intents emerge
Not leaving anything to be desired
And I continue in reluctance
By bit and bridle to drink where led
Son-of-Manning the keyboard
as if a lonesome sailor at the helm
Rising and falling
Wrestling with white capped fury to stay the course
tap, tap, tap away to what end?
Rarely understanding…
Comprehending nothing…
until after
trusting enough
To hit “send”
Whether to fall
or to stand
Now entirely…
out of my hands
and “good riddance!”
I say thee one and all
for now…
I can breathe freely
___________________

dove
“if people destroy something made by man they are called vandals. if they destroy something made by GOD they are called developers”

God Bless

 

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2 thoughts on “Hanging By Threads

  1. Son of Manning. I like that Zeke. You fit right into the 33rd chapter. So do they and it is their loss that they spare not the time to drink largely.
    Son of Man, tell them and get their blood off your hands (Ezekiel 18). Some will listen, but still they are so self-loving that they will think they are doing you the great favour.

  2. Shhhhhhhh…Forrester, ya’ givin’ it all away:)

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