Photo by James Wheeler
Out of my head
No point in New lies
Not hindered by sorrow
Simply celebrate my life
Brilliance is this instant
Melting colors into day
Living every minute
With no time to give away
Sorrow bears a goodness
Merriment holds no shame
Colors intense and glorious
With no time to give away
Photo by Engin Akyurt
As if at forced shutter speed all life now is slow motion.
A stealthy enemy invades War Rooms with limited detection.
At what price can we buy peace of mind and human devotion?
This peripatetic killer cares not for education or station
and will only be stopped by God’s love of our Nation.
I am still right here my neighbor.
I will pray through this long dark night with you.
Let us lift up our pleas to the One who heals.
Let us be the ones called courageous and true.
I will, I will fight in my War Room for you.
Photo by Johannes Plenio
The Chinese refer the human heart as the “Emperor” of all the body organs. As some of you know I spent the largest part of my nursing career as a Cardiac Nurse. In the care of the heart I was in my element and in the technical exploration of the heart even more so. I literally loved looking at hearts and being a very minuscule part of attempting to repair them. There is much that technology’s advancements have taught us in sustaining healthy heart function. Did you know that over an average life span a human heart will beat without fail over forty million times? There is a wear and tear on such a faithful organ that works this hard and there are many physiological reasons the heart will wear out, malfunction, or fail.N
Takosubo Cardiomyopathy is a type of non-ischemic (a situation not caused by “restricted blood flow”) which is phenomenon in which a “temporary weakness of the heart muscle occurs.” In lay-people terms it is referred to as “broken heart syndrome.” A true diagnosis stating the overwhelming loss, constant anxiety, and other emotional situations can lead to a “broken heart.”
In the matters of the heart I believe we have only two options. We try to control it and it still dies or we give it over to God and it really never can die. There is no middle ground.
It is a given that after forty billion beats a heart is going to finally come to a stop. I am of course speaking tongue in cheek here as I am speaking of the Spirit of a person, their heart that does not die.
The writer Charles Martin says it this way in his book Send Down the Rain.
“Love rushes in where others won’t. Where bullet are flying. Love stands between them. Love pours out, empties itself. It scours the evil wasteland, returns the pieces that were lost, and never counts the cost.”
Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS
I stare out my window
Like a sea wife staring out the horizon
Time moving ever so slow
I have always felt set apart
Looking outside of dreams into the indigo haze
Time capturing the beats of my heart
This is what faith is
The hope of what can’t always be seen
Time cannot define where he is
Photo by abednego ago
The drums of lies beating through the night city swells.
The lies touting of a merry Hell.
Hardened in heart pursuing only self, dancing to the tune of gaining wealth.
When day dawns over the city’s night all will be blinded by the Holy Light.
The drums are lying, darkness takes your life.
For Hell can’t be merry and is not the tale of fairies!
Jolted from my Daydream deluged by the sudden high tide,
I slammed into rapid -fire streams of doubt and fear inside.
Memories, like clouds hide the light, wreathed in glass beads of blue.
I swallow all my viscous dread and put my faith and trust in you.
Photo by Sippakorn Yamkasikorn
It is like first seeing a wildfire not knowing what it is.
Like orange flickering holiday lights dancing on a black hill.
The odor of burnt vines and smoke are miles and months away
but slowly and surely the wildfire is edging our way.
At first people believe it won’t affect their world
they ignore their inner call to action or care.
The next thing they know all sight is lost in smoke
now everything is burning like the wheat and the tare.
We should have listened to the prophets
their facts written in black and white.
Now the oil of apathy cannot be returned to its urn
The orange lights are now full raging fire that burns.
Photo by Ithalu Dominguez
Butterscotch Sunday melted away
We rode on the train down by the bay
We built little castles with dirty brown sand
We bought Colombian
heard the Stephen Stills band.
You said I was the beauty of the earth
Flowers in my hair, cigarettes in my purse.
I thought that train ride would never end
until I saw you on the bridge with my best friend.
I pack my bags on a Butterscotch Sunday
put on my pink dress and kneel down to pray.
All the dirty brown sand castles crumble down
I’m gonna board the next train out of town.
Photo by Steve on Pexels.com
Cassidy or the Sundance Kid;
the master manipulator or
the quiet deadly one instead?
One in it for himself
the other needs the thrill.
One is the master mind
The other taking what he will.
I have known all kinds of men
and time has shown me well.
A man is either Cassidy or the Sundance Kid
as time will surely tell.
Photo by Angelo Duranti
Her passion is tender.
Her pain is massive.
Her mind is lithe and quick.
Her body is no longer as swift.
Her temple once was a house of cards,
built by her birth, her fear, and her works.
Now she stands on the rock called Jesus
careful to follow him with her cross.
A new temple foundation built,
she is sure of this The Holy One.
He makes all things new with his Holy breath,
and will lead her in both life and death…
Home.
Jill Autrey Dorman 