a tree not a piano A black and white photograph of a little girl looking into her grandfather’s face with an inquisitive look of awe hangs on an otherwise blank wall, a quiet reminder of humanity in a room of sterile white. The woman looking up at me, a near replica of the child in the frame, wears an expression of sympathy that suggests an over familiarity I’m not comfortable with. Dr. Julie O’Toole, a badge on her chest reads, not that I need a nametag to tell me who she is. The abrupt woman who lives up to the fiery cliché of her red hair has become a staple in my life, a weekly presence I can’t outrun desp
layers of desirethis place selfish, lost, superficiali want genuineness, drivenness, growththey want to stagnate stay the same or worse move backwardsthe persuit of love thy neighbor traded for the persuit of happinessi want to love themi want to heal their hurti want to know them on the inside to feel their very heart broken bruised or mostly wholei want to dance with GOD again to follow HIS steps to not follow minei want to run barefoot on ethiopian soili want to feel
Kailey's SongLegs don't work quite like they shouldWords you speak aren't understoodFeet can't dance but wish they couldBut, inside, your heart is good.You always had a smile showingAnd a joy that's overflowingCan't you tell me where you're goingWith this GOD you say's worth knowing.Cuz you've gone where I can't comeGone to be with the Saving OneTo the place with the Eternal SonWhere you'll get to dance and run.Up in Heaven, you're bowing downChoirs of Angels praise resoundYour voice has joined their heavenly soundIt once was lost but now is found.Now legs work, unlike beforeAnd words you speak are finally yoursNothing
Sta.sh
