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Writing Byte #7: Our Pit and Our Hope

We often describe this life as “fine,” “good,” and “same old same old,” when the truth is, it’s not.
Often, we’re drowning in a sea of change, loss, hurt, confusion and loneliness. 
Sometimes we’ve fallen so deep into a pit that we don’t see a way out.

A rope was thrown down after us, our only hope, but often it seems no hope at all.
It is slippery, and we can feel it slip through our fingers no matter how tight we hold on.
We can barely keep hold of it, and salvation seems impossible.

We are so deep underground we can’t even see the light of the opening above our heads.
We’re weighted down by mud and dirt, and long for enough oxygen to really breath.
We may begin to panic, or give up all together.

But still, we manage to keep hold of that rope, the only way out.
Maybe, it will eventually become dry enough to climb, or someone might even pull us up.
Because if we let go of the rope, our hope, then we will never get out of the pit.


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Writing Byte #11: I Dreamed of a Dream

I don’t have a dream, except a dream of a dream. I have a hole instead: a hole or a pit, a vacuum that never fills up, and a thirst that is never satisfied. I look at my life through a mirror, the reflections speak to me in muffled voices, and I’m sinking down and down through the gloom, wishing my soul to sing, my essence to fly out, into the clear bright air under the sun.
I have a dream to breathe, to fill my lungs and live But instead I I control my breathing and sleep, Sleep through this life and long to dream.
But then…
Along comes Hope and with Hope comes life, and I find it, or it finds me… And I breathe in deep, and as the air fills my lungs, I long to cry and shout, to sigh with relief, as I awake anew, from the dark, deep sleep,
where I dreamed of dreaming a dream.

Writing Byte #13: The Siege of the Storm

Hi there! I had pneumonia over Christmas, but all better now, thank God.
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The Siege of the Storm

People come to this lake to see serene scenery,
Ducks and geese that sail silently,
Smooth and quiet, still surface,
The water reflecting the sky.

How boring.

When I turn the last corner, I park and go still.
To see the action.
I'm here for a rock concert, a cage match and the Lord of the Flies' playground all in one.

The clouds rumble their way in, above, pushing and shoving their way to the front, blocking the view of the sun.
The waves form and clap in time.
The current starts out calm, but finds its beat and runs strong and deep... deep.
Birds battle while the the rain pelts the ground in a drumroll, like the drummer boys marching before the troops.

The war is on.
It's a battle of wills; it's a battle of nature... versus nature.
The geese, the ducks, coots and pelicans.
They're all assembled on the battlefield.

The water roars a…