Angry Old Man

I see an old man dashing past me
Down a busy street.
Carrying his walking frame,
Shouting things that should be beeped.
What is he chasing after?
Why does he curse and swear?
Everybody wonders too.
They stop their work and stare.


I saw this scene when I was in the market at my old house with my parents. I was a little girl. The funniest part was how he carried his walking frame and ran.

White Dog, Black Dog

I crave the wrong, I want the right;
Both sides are tugging, calling.
I choose the dark, ignore the light,
Then sorrow at my falling.

White dog Black dog fight in me;
Sometimes there's 'most no fight at all.
I know it's not, but seems to be
Patterned somewhat cyclical.

Wendy's Mommy

Mother passes, daughter weeps.
We come, we sit, we smile, we greet.
Try to act like something's wrong.
Read a psalm and sing a song.
Hang our heads down low and heavy,
Wait an hour and then get ready,
To leave, because we do not bear
The pain the daughter cannot share.


I wrote this after coming home from a funeral that was very cordial.

Upon This Train

Today upon this train I sit
Awaiting when I shall return
To my dear husband, Ma, and kid
And tell them all what I have learned.

Upon this train I sing my songs
And wonder at the echo's ring.
For this train ride must be so long,
And I'll be bored if i don't sing.

I met some people, kind but grave
Who fear the train will never reach.
I could not stand their panicked state,
So I got the Reverend to stand and preach.

I write to you, dear ones at home,
With pen in hand and tear in eye.
I miss you so, oh you must know,
That you are in this heart of mine.


I wrote this after I had a dream set in the old West, in which I took a long train ride. It's very random.

Judges Self-Proclaimed

Judged from every side,
People looking straight into your eyes
Thinking, "Why is she doing what she's doing now?
It should be this way, should be how."
Why are you staring at me when you're blind?
What in the world are you trying to find?
You can't see my heart,
What you see is just the outside part.

I wrote this long ago in a fit of fury, haha.

Emmanuelle

Emmanuelle, you lonely child.
You walked the world within a mile.
Forced to grow up a tad too fast,
Could not your innocence last!

I prayed for you, Emmanuelle,
That in your haste, you'd still be well.
But so it seems, my prayers were vain,
For you today in a coffin lay.

Where did your money trickle down?
Where is that fame you said you'd found?
Emmanuelle, oh Emmanuelle.
How sad your story is to tell!

Souls Around Me

Oh, Sad Soul,
Rejoice evermore.
You are a'waiting
For the heaven's galore.
That was promised you
In the Old Book of Faith.
Gather your self now,
Just a while more wait.

Oh, Doubtful Soul,
Childlike heart all up-grown?
Now for all things
Evidence must be shown.
And if there is none,
Then you will not believe.
To earthly logic
You hang and you cleave.

Oh, Weary Soul,
Is this race far too long?
Can't but look back
At the times you were strong?
Out is the fire
That once burned in your eyes.
Winded and wounded,
Know that God hears your cries.

The Hard Road

Everybody's leaving, the world is in dismay.
Still I am a'cleaving to this Bible, to this Way.
Friends bid me farewell as I continue down this road.
Sometimes as I watch them pass, I feel this heavy load--
Load of sadness, load of angst
I know, I should be giving thanks.
It's so hard to bear this load, to walk this road.
Like that man of constant sorrow,
I wonder if that bright tomorrow
Will ever come, will ever be.
Yes, God said it, and I believe.

I wrote this when someone left church a few years ago.

Love is Not

Love is not a feeling that makes you warm inside.
Love is not emotion that sways along with pride.
Love is not a thing you fall into without a say.
Love is not a risk that you take along the way.
Love is not sensations that you cannot understand.
Love is not a need you feel to lie and to pretend.
Love is not a fun fair ride that gives you highs and lows.
Love is not a mystery that no one ever knows.
Love is not a state of mind that takes you to the moon.
Love is not like skipping down a path that's flower strewn.
Love is not a force that you cannot prevent or stop.
Love is not a compromise that makes convictions warp.

I wrote this when I studied 1 Corinthians 13 and thought about the common ideologies about love.

What Can the Dying Man Do

What can the dying man do for himself?
In the form of a bill, in the shape of a coin.
All he has worked for cannot mend his health.
He's spent his life toiling, only to die.
His family and loved ones he all pushed aside.
He gave up what mattered for money and pride.
But silver and gold
No power doth hold
When it comes to the wrath of God.

Angelic

Did I ever tell you?
You take my breath away.
Your heart, your soul, your mind, your self,
The things you do and say.
I think you are an angel,
An angel in disguise.
You really are one, aren't you?
I see it in your eyes.