This small life

Lands we will reach as we sail away but I don't want to let this life pass by. But how can we go anywhere when we don't have the courage to leave our homes? There was a bundle of blue yarn sitting on the desk next to me as i thought. Will my life amount to a hill of beans, or will I suffer in ignorance like the rest? My cute black puppy knows its purpose in its small miserable life, why don't I? People riding the busses, people working hard, driving the busses for them. Destinations posted on the front of the bus illuminating the marquee. I will season my thoughts over my heart and season it like some dry jerky. For it is been drained like from some sick hemomaniac. Heart sucked dry. We hold on to the most insane of ideas. We try too hard. We struggle. Like unto a mudskipper who believes it is his time to evolve are we. It won't be easy, it might be tricky, but we can't give up, we won't give up. This small life we partake of... Can the Madams or Psychic Friends help us? They can not evolve us... Who can add height or depth to himself by worrying? This small life we dream of is lost on the chords of some celestial guitarist. Does anyone know who we really are, or where this ghost train is taking us? The fog that we travel through, on our way to oblivion, Mother Mary help us. We struggle and strive and dream and sweat and eventually have our hearts sucked. Like as unto by some craven necrophiliac, as we lie in our tombs, we are abused. This small life is surrounded by darkness, except for that one small shaft of light. The light of Christ. The promise of the Jews and the hope of the Gentiles is He.

My shaft of light. My hope. My way. All the way my Savior will guide and help me through my small, so small life. And He will lead me to the bus station of my destiny.

Copyright 2003 by pauly hart

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