ROUTE 66

I came to your waters
In my time of grief
Not in search of a Moses
Or some sort of short-term relief

The wooden bench
On which I erected my tent
Groaned 'neath the weight
Of my soul being bent

~to your will~

I gathered my garments
Around my naked form
Trying to protect myself
From the looming storm

Black clouds accumulated
Forming a nest in the sky
Recycled water.....pounding
The corrupted EYE
      ......til I chose......to die
               To needing to know 
                      the WHY
                           of living

Cleansed and broken
I rose from that hallowed spot
I am what I am
And all I am not

All the taking away
And adding to...perfection
Is like the formation of the bench
Usefulness requires rejection
....of the majority
       to be the minority
             who yields their heart
                  to the road.

Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-22-2018

LET IT RAIN

For so long, has my soul been dry
I forgot how to desire rain
Every single moment, devoted
To surviving the newly arriving pain

...of ALONE

It doesn't matter, what moves upon my soil
I am resilient and I will toil

...with sorrow

I'm not pitiful, just not brave enough to despair
Or give up that last speak of dust
Some stupid thing inside me, drags me
To once again, cast my cares, and trust

...that LOVE never
   
         freaking F
                         Ail
                              sssssssssss

Snakes slither upon my ground
I'm registering their sound

.....but I remain................still

What...plink...plink....plink
"Little one....it is time to drink"

The rain falls, as my desert turns to mud
I see no evidence of growing relations
Just my steady heart...beating
As His LOVE knits together, nations

....inside this womb of HOPE

Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-17-2018

CONSIDERING CONDITIONS

There are users, abusers
And bitter accusers
In the World of negative thought
There are legalistic, ballistic
And increasingly sadistic
In the World of righting the "not lot"

~On the other side~

There are roses, poses
And delivering Moses
In the World of fanatical dreams
There are hoping, doping
And constantly roping
In the World of sewing seems (seams)

~Still~

There are planners, banners
And worshipping fanners
In the World of Pyramid Power
There are groveling, dissolving
And situational involving
In the World of heightening bowers

~Til~

There are woulders, coulders
And moving shoulders
In the World of Imagination
There are accepting, respecting
And continually perfecting
In the World of growing patience 

~Light Shining on the Darkness

Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-11-2018

THE HURTING TREE

Once there was a grand forest
Full of life and beauty
Till a logging company
Decided it was their duty

...to cut it down

Tree after tree disappeared
Leaving the rest to retreat in fear

As they moved to the center
Only the bark was needed to make
Products of convience
That promised to take

...the process of pain

Humans are horrible creatures
With entitled features

Leaving One tree to stand alone
Stripped naked of its bark
Products and People
Devalued the tree and left the mark

...of pleasure killing pain

Vulnerable, raw to touch
The only use left, a wooden crutch

...for a wounded soldier.

Written by Trudy Schrader

Note: In my counseling class, we watched a video of an addicted man who was clearly in denial. He was defensive, and not in a place to admit he had a problem. I actually prayed, "God please don't send me a client like that." Another student, who was moved to compassion said, "Do you see him? It's his identity. He can not be vulnerable. He must be strong! How horrible...no place to rest." I repented of my uncaring prayer.

IDENTIFYING WITH IDENTITY

Walking out of the prison doors
She breathed in the crisp, clean air
Finally free from bars of steel
Open choices in all her affairs

No probation to keep straight
She was given a fresh, clean slate
An old friend suddenly appeared
At the opening of the iron gate

"Where do you wanna go, my friend?
The world awaits your desire."
"No, no, not this time
I'm not about to lite another fire."

She requested to go home
And, no offense, but to be left alone
He dropped her off in the drive
But the sight, of her home, buried her alive

She fell to her knees in great sorrow
Asking, "How can this be my land?"
The task before her so taxing
She hadn't the hope to lift a hand

Her friend drove off with a grimace on his face
Knowing, in a few little moments, she'd be back in his grace
Once a slave, always a slave, to familiarity
The next reality, just doesn't meant the requirement of similarity

A stranger appeared, kneeling with the woman
Touching her shoulder with care
He said, "You are not alone this time
And nothing on your land can scare
    
   ....me away

If you don't mind, I'd like to be your friend
And all of my tools of hope, to you I lend
I'll even show you how to till, seed, water and grow
Fruit that will feed the fish I give you in the opportunities that flow

   ....at your feet."

She accepted the offer
And was finding a new found joy
When up drove her friend
Saying, "Come on whitchya boy!"

Without a thought, or volition of will
She jumped in the car, as he turned the wheel
     ....down a familiar road
           ....and upon her back, came the familiar load

    of lovely lies.

Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-03-2018




Note: Our identity is hidden within LOVE, but how will we ever find it, if we are hanging out with fear?