Tink Tink

Tink tink; I feel dry.

Tink tink; I overflow.

Tink tink; I look up at the sky.

They say eagles are a sign of good luck, but all I saw was a vulture.

Tink tink; does that mean death?

Death to my old ways?

Death to a bitter soul?

Death to my unruly ways?

Tink tink; I’m a well.

Freshly dug, and I keep digging deep.

Tink, tink I’m stubble and stone.

My life’s just begun!

I see new beginnings!

Tink tink; a garden grows.

Tink tink; its harvest time.

Tink tink; my harvest has grown!

Tink tink; I’m beaten upon the floor.

Tink tink; yes I feel pain.

Tink tink; the shaft is gone!

Tink tink; I see the fire!

Its a blazing flame.

I don’t smell flesh, its amazing grace!

Tink tink …the stubble is gone.

Tink tink; I’m firm and strong

Tink tink; I sing a song.

Tink, tink I cry aloud ” I’ve been remade and redeemed.”

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, I give Yah praise!

In Yahushua’s name.

Tink tink: Shalom!

Diablo….

I saw it suddenly and it scared me. The devils in his eye’s.

I see it clear.

Most think he the devil only dwells in the blue or green eyed men.

But this devil’s taken to my brown eyed man, singing, he sings downtown, calling it the blues.

I see it in his eyes, I hear it in his voice.

He moans and groans, scatting about his choice.

My man with the devil in his eyes, has a delightful voice.

But that’s besides the point.

He called three times, and he came.

“That son of a bitch, went and gave it up!”

The devils in his eyes, and now he’s lost his choice.

Night after night, he howls the devil’s favorite tune’s.

That thing that dwells deep within all of us, he gave his own up.

And now he sings, every night about his deal with the devil.

And people listen from dusk to dawn, to that man singing about the devil in his eyes, and how he stole his soul.

Telling stories, he says the devil whispered in his ear.

Going on about when he called three times, some late, dark night.

Telling people, “I can’t cry.”

“Cause I’m the one that let him in. Ever since that night, I can’t sleep so I stay here and chant the blues.

I see things, no man should ever see.

When I let the devil in, he made himself at home.

Can’t shoo him out, because he’s got, my soul.

My mother cried and begged me to take it back. But I couldn’t tell her, it was a done deed, signed my name, and its a cold hard fact.

Now, I just close my eyes and humm that same ole tune. And think to myself the devils got me beat. I’ll just continue to play the blues. The devil’s tune will never change, I heard it on the night he came. A, C, B, C”….

But it’s just what I heard from this ole girl who loved a brown eyed man, with the devil in his eyes.

An Amaranthine Love

A loud thunderstorm and a soft translucent rain.

Comparable to good loving.

A deep warm hug.

A tender kiss

A delicious meal.

Soft rain stirs my soul deeply into ustulation.

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Washing away my continuous growth of nemesism; from past and present days.

I feel like rain is a sign from God that we need to mindfully redintegrate our souls.

In one sentence the rain dirls my heart, mind, and soul.

I wonder if anyone else feels this way about the rain.

Please tell me you do?

That you experience theses ineffable feelings when the sky cries.

Either 1,2, 3, or 4 moods bewitch me.

  1. A deep euphoric sleep.
  2. Rapturous energy serges; fixing all melancholy in my eyes before the thunderstorm. Reminding me that my time is short and to be happy I have breath in my lungs. No matter my frustrations the rain renews my joy. It signals an unspoken promise that’s etched across my heart. ( Have joy in the midst of this worlds sorrow!)
  3. Equanimity; a yearning to stop all things and meditate.

Seek out calmness. Composure, of breath and watch the rain fall down my windows as I drive. Upon my skin, starting with the palms of my hands. Praying to be cleansed, as I reach out and over my porch.

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4. A deep mourning. I cry for No other reason than to let out emotions sometimes. Can’t pinpoint it to anger or frustration. The rain just calls me to cry and both sing sometimes. I don’t know if I’m crying for lost souls or for my soon to come frustration once the rain stops. But I can say it’s from the heart, slow and one by one. As if the result of each and every thought I hold dear.

Hopefully, it’s not just me, although me and rain we go way back.

We will always share our amaranthine Love.

Even in death, I’ll welcome it to my corpse.

Fall on my grave top, seep and penetrate my tomb.

Oh, how I love rain.

And he loves me too.

Diligently and sweet…

Through heartache and grief…

Rain sweeps me off of my feet.

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