Colder, colder, turn the cold shoulder…
Shut it out before it get’s in.
Lock the doors, the screens are too thin.
Protect the beating, the beaten and bruised.
Protect the healing the broken and used.
The last tear cried, the streaks have dried.
The aches of longing have died inside.
The caring was too heavy, the feelings too vast.
There was no way to hold it, for hope to outlast.
The waves would swell so large,
To swallow one whole
Beating back down and drowing the soul.
Fighting for air, just a gasp, some relief…
To only be pummelled back down in the grief.
Okay then I stop, I give up, it’s too much.
The scars and the wounds are too tender to touch.
Stop fighting, stop reaching, stop grasping at straws
The grace of soft hands were transformed into claws.
When the nature of the struggle
Is built within fight.
Something whispered ‘let go, it will all be alright’
And I sank to the bottom as I accepted my fate
My eyes gave way to darkness, skies closing the gate.
But as Acceptance took over and my vision adjusts
I begin to see others barely made out in the dust.
The shadows and shapes of the huddled and tired
The resting weary souls who once tended the fires.
Are they dead, is this it, have I fought my last fight?
None of them argue about what wrongs to make right.
It’s just quiet.
Then I realized this is not a place of torment.
No dumping ground for bodies and spirit’s lament.
It’s rest. It’s recovery. It’s the silence of now.
The place where the echos have sunk to the ground.
There is no more to deny, and nothing to hide.
The truth of our journeys been branded inside.
The weight of the baggage slid off of our backs.
There are no enemies to defend against impending attacks.
Weapons laid down they don’t work in this place.
There is only the quiet of deep abiding grace.
The rest for the wicked and the peace of the saints.
Are all laid here together with no pictures to paint.
No stories to spin or propaganda to sell.
Maybe not caring is the worst kind of hell.
The truth needs no fighting for, it’s all there is left.
The battle worn soldiers are welcoming death.
We did our best, we played the game,
but at the end of it all found much of the same.
Whether you, or I, or some other we dreamed
We forgot we were each other, stitched loose at the seams.
In suits of false difference, in language of lands
In thoughts we believed and the world in our hands.
We fought so hard to make it right,
But all the while we were losing sight.
What is, what was, what we wanted to be,
Were all part of creation that was created by me.
The choice to be ONE that perceived as though many.
The visions of reality chosen from any.
The potential of everything, springing from none
Realizing that all of it was just part of this ONE.
Loss and Love are one in the same
But I'm grateful I lived and chose LOVE in this game...
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