Sense of a story

    Loss of the senses. Held tight
are the sentences of stories told long
ago. Quivering mind loses track
of how the words are used. Still
woven and splattered across heart.

    Oh careful of how outspoken the
heart is. Much trouble can be given
to the speaker. Best to listen
then analyze, reason with vibrance
than to allow all known. I
only want one to understand
me: Jehovah. He will, he does.
For even my thoughts are known to him
even before I know my own.

    Oh to step back, look over and over
the taken smiles. Rolls and rolls
adventure throughout closed lids. Playing,
searing the sounds of clouds deep within.

     Careful of those who are listening.
Cautious of their reaction. Carry the
waves, air high but still enough
to move and breathe.

     Distance I seem to stare but the
mind sound. Recalling. Hearing. Dreaming
of that one story. Oh how sorted
are the facts from the fiction. Fiction,
if any, are displayed and explored.
Wrongly accused and yet fact,too, can
be distorted.

     Among this I hope you see me.
    My smile opened and eyes blazing
             wide sky blue topaz.