Dirt, dust to listen to

          Random words fall as time just relays a part.
Emptying out all the oldness of dirt. Piling up across my
feet. Still, even, the layers of dust echo inside the airwaves
as the mind unfolds into a cracked, newer level. Holding,
I am, and crying but still moving.

         Somewhere in the midst of the cool air a whistle
caresses the ears. The vibrations of laughter exits the
paled lips and repeats a song. Hearing just how
the scratches create an infested itch. Oh the
coarseness causes me to stand clear, waiting for the
jolt of stone to mar the skin.

        Still, here, inside my spirit nothing touches me.
The kisses of love in the wind holds my memories upon
an open reel. Exposed for all to watch, to observe if
willing and wanting.

        Yes the cynical moment displays itself but how can
I let it go? Ah yes the neutrality of the events. How to
shape the new lessons. One by one the steps halt and
the darkness of nighttime covers over the hurt. The
silence of me has just shaken thoroughly. I only hope,
now, the levels clear away and sleep begins to soothe.

        Now all the motions I waited to express just carry
forward as I laugh aloud. The words of tears stain the
corners of slate blues. Still I don't allow a release.

       Clinging to the one Truth I know Jehovah. Once
again the sweeps of distance carries this baby sister.
Down, down I write. Wondering why, how I can still be
standing when my knees are so weak, buckling.

         Oh even my mind is screaming. There must be a
reason. Must be strength that pulls me back. Listening
to myself once more. The laughter soaks.

           Shh. I don't even know who listens anymore,
but honestly it doesn't matter anymore. I cannot please
anyone. So Jehovah has to be all that is there at the
end of the day.

           Oh how I wonder how I am still here. Still
breathing when the irony of my life falls out. The
cynic is bitter but strong. Still loving all I should.
Still. Still.

                                   And still.

         The quakes of who I am. The passion of just
me. Why it matters is beyond my understanding. The
sense of humor that echoes all around me. So here,
listen. Believe me when I say I will do as asked.

          Hard as though the resistance is I still will
prevail. It is how I adjust, I adapt to all that pulls me
in millions of directions.

          Now, yes, this is one of those moments I scream
at you. But is it worth it to hear, no because I love
endlessly, foolishly but pure.

         Alas you cannot ask that much of me to change
for turning to stone is too cold, to old and such a lie.

         Listen to my tears. Listen to my gasps of choking
air. Listen to the heart beating too rapidly. Still listen
to this baby sister, for she needs an ear.

        Now dear friend what say you, hmm?