I am peeling back the blinds to find myself
Blind
At blaring light last night hid from my sight
Blind
Not only to my surrooundings but to the one who found me
And wrote a more beautiful history
Who wanted more than this for me
Wistfuly I recount the dreams and aspirations
That were planted like seeds in the soil of my heart
I start
To remember that they are true
though they seem too good for this dusty life around me
I’m grounding
My direction in the words you spoke to me
delicately directing my life out to open sea
I’m constrained by your stars but otherwise free
To be
Everything written in the DNA
Of this burning coal you placed on my lips
On this road trip the cd skips
When I hit bumps I bite lips
And my tongue
Sore from abuse might stay silent
Might not show up for work
But stay at home sick
Might forget how to spit
Sickly the very anthem that kills the enemy
When have we ever been at ease with
Not talking
Loose lips sink ship, change lives, patch rips
In the holes of our identity
Maybe we are stuck between
A lofty self image that seems too good to be true
And a battered distortion served up as truth
Mute
And unable to speak the speech prepared
Long before the creation of the world you cared
Enough about me to choose my hair color
What mother would bear to watch two brothers
Silently tear apart
Well I start to do the same
Every day that I live differently than my name
Every day that I wake silently to the pain
Of pretending my calling was only a dream
Of watching the mural washing off the walls
Of the house that is also crumbling
Stumbling through the house of mirrors
Hall of dreams, running with scissors
Cutting the time it takes to get
To the other side of regret
And yet
I woke up this morning and stared in my coffee
And somehow the Spirit reached out and sang to me
More than a melody, it was a symphony
Of everything I was formed to be
Of all the things that have ever excited me
Written in my very bones
Fitted in with other stones
We make a wall to make a home
For the only muse, for the Father of Futures
For the real dream catcher and keeper
The Author, Spellchecker, Finisher, and Reader
Of our faith
Our faith
Is not in our own ability to create something with this life
Our fight
Is not to scrape meaning out of grey painful existence
Our life
Is to tune our ears to hear not fear but beauty
Not strict but loosely
Choosing from a wide array of choices
All pointing quite directly to the very First of Voices
The very Fount of Goodness
The very Point of Life
The only one able to peel back the blinds of the blind and speak life
To write a better story with our meager scraps of life