Wind Binder
First plane to fly 1903.
A flying machine.
Made from the Wright Brothers.
Take flight through the air.
Glide through the horizon.
What an amazing feeling.
Transport here and there.
The sky is transparent.
What an accomplishment.
Skim through the clouds, air lift.
Breathtaking views.
With sunset hues.
Embrace the ride.
There is nothing like it.
What a heavenly sight.
Fly high.
Fly away in disbelief.
Fast as a bird on silver wings.
Leave everyone behind.
A wind binder in the sky.
A place to be free.
Feel the cool breeze.
Miles into the unknown.
The sky for me is home.
My wish is to make it into an anthology.
I've framed thought with gold leaf and slag.
Buffed them into positive and negative action.
At times I've both bullied and buttressed the weak.
Trimmed away and added insult to my fellow man.
They say there's only one path.
At times darkness has thoroughly dusted this man.
The heart beats out of rhythm and rhyme.
Can't do much about soul crimes of the past.
I'm praying away the clutter in the mind.
Will I make it into the anthology of souls?
Only the pristine scale of God knows....
For now, I linger somewhere on the binder.
There's a constant drone in the back of my head
Hide them
Hide them
Hide them
Hide them
A constant drone that turns my vision red
Hide them
Hide them
Hide them
Hide them
Snap
Snap
Snap
Snap
Every picture hurts
Crack
Crack
Crack
Crack
The facade's about to burst
I'm sick of living my life on a timer
It restarts daily, but it ticks forevermore
There's only one solution to the timer
But it's not available to me
They can't see why I hate the timer
They think the time on it is enough
Sometimes they ask why I need the time
They say, "If the timer bothers you, stop taking the time!"
"We don't take the time. So we don't have a timer. Look at us!"
Oh how I wish it were that simple
They have no timer, but they have all the time
They don't need to take it
They were born with it
I hate my timer
The class was going on. The professor was discussing about topics, special magnet topics. And I was sitting there, dumb and frozen, way after the class ended. A real headache.
Her story was getting clamped in a binder. Elderly healthcare, and lost lives in failure of loneliness. And I was asking my mirror image an obvious question. Is my work meaningful?
The songs were filling the blanks. Empty hours in an empty room. Where my English is not. And the songs are not, too. But we are destined to tango on.
We all are. In many ways. In dumber ways. In utter stupidity. In foolishness.
In walking steps.
Keep walking. Keep running. Keep being hopeful.
Many claims to be a great healer
but often shows them false
words are easy but don't deliver
truth's reality is the great revealer
God alone is the one true doctor
who deals with ills by sure success
even those with hearts that are crushed
hidden their ailments are under its dress
The great healer is the one true God
who removes our sins by shedding blood
putting HIs own dear son to the cross
breaking this world with a mighty thud
Also this Lord of heaven and earth
binds us up in our wounds so neat
with the touch of heavenly oil
effecting any deep cut by His heat
A day is certainly coming in eternity
when each wound receive a cure
the master's medicine pours divinely in
where the healing is instant certain and sure
(Psalm 137:3
"He heals the broken-hearted and binds up their wounds.")
Her child was in need
So she gave him all she had
It was not enough....
He would have to borrow from DAD
A lecture of failure
Seemed but a little to endure
For having the need met
And living quarters ensured
Her gift gift lie dormant
Eating at his soul
Her sacrificial living
Fell short of his goal
It costs him nothing
To pay the bill on credit
He requires repayment
And is happy to badger until he gets it
Her relationship altered forever
While nothing is changed with DAD
Both continue in the belief
Living like this isn't all that bad
The binder that carries us to ABBA
Is the sacrifice we can't engage
What should be reverential gratitude
Is transformed into a powerless rage
........................I must be free.............
Then choose
Be blessed, and go your way
The sacrifice remains
In every purchase....with, and without faith
Written by Trudy Schrader on 01-01-2021
Reaper and Binder
Our thumbs do the talking nowadays,
The cyberspace filled with thoughts, expressions of different elements of the 21st century 's creativity.
I am talking inventions, engagements, arguments, rhythmic pigmentations and Lots of of infectious reflections.
From Blackberrys to Huaweis, to Samsungs, Sonys and many more digital diaries, Libralies, mirrors, alarms, calculators.... basically reliable android buddies,
What happened to the Easter Bunny?
Yes the Abyss excites thee but this rebinding is blinding the chapters of touch, culture, tradition, religion and simply the old skool human connection... so Lost in our pocket pals letting thumbs doing the talking forgetting how important eye contact is, we need it to avoid the rebuffing of a new reality....
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