Waiting’s hard

Raging, when the waiting’s hard;

seething as the shackles call.

Crying in the midst of pain.

Doubled up enduring shame.

 

An echo trapped within my core

can resonate and damn my soul.

This howl of rage can only frame

the yearning need to escape my blame.

 

Searing wounds jar melodic strains;

they echo with no friend to name.

The rawness of the strident call

flows in-between death’s awful pall.

 

All rivers trapped must find their flow.

For all things course to places low.

So when true life oe’r flows what’s numb,

that’s when sweet grace and mercy come.

Author – Bill Tidsbury

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Sensibilities delight

Soft; transparent; vulnerable:

these dance with sensibilities delight!

They rest as if embraced

within the arms of gentle love.

They do not rise to dominate.

They never shred and rage.

They fill the world with wonder,

flowing out of trust and grace.

 

They quell before the heat of hate.

seemingly crumbling into dust

as selfish greed strides forth.

Yet in the midst of turmoil’s pain

they kiss and heal stillborn’s dream!

Dull hearts are then enraged and shamed,

choking off forgotten longing’s song.

They felt this grace when mother smiled.

It echoes still, while comfort’s kiss is lost.

 

Trust is a bed rock firm and sure.

It frames a world with beauty’s hue.

It settles softly into silk

and opens wide communion’s milk.

Trust dances free and never stabs.

Its laughter flows as fragrant wine.

It grows majestic as the dawn

and leaves the delicacy of lace behind.

Soft, transparent, vulnerable,

This truth is lively and sublime!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Expectations

Raised expectations surge with delight.

it feels like it’ll happen, maybe-just might!

The visions they swirl and dance in the wind,

the possible’s endless, and wonder’s in flight.

The hormones are cranked up, the crackle is felt,

and time seems suspended and waiting’s a fight.

All this and more flows out from just words,

that simply portended  that dreams can see light!

 

Failed expectations can hurt just like hell.

The future collapses as pain’s torment swells.

The heart feels despairing, sinking deep in the sea,

while purpose is listless and eyes cannot see.

My stomach does threaten to  split me in two,

and dread seems to squash whatever feels new.

Life’s gripped in iron when future looms dark,

and hope just lies stillborn in grief’s hateful night.

 

Living, believing is never a waste.

It frames my good fortune when in valley’s grave.

My present is always a gift of great hope,

when breathing is granted and friendships are close.

I hold to the precious, that lives in my hand,

and reach for the promise that vision demands.

While ever uncertain, I still see a strand,

of grace that’s connected to that which is grand.

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Free to be

Vast! Stillness, open space

lifts my being into grace.

As eye meets distance and rebounds,

my spirit grasps

and poised forever on the brink,

I smoothly flow as if a speck!

 

So, I dance in hyper-space,

intertwined in love that’s lace.

My heart disperses. Scattered wide,

my being weaves;

while conscious streams, as golden threads,

form beauty and replace all dreads.

 

Still! While inner negations yield,

presence sings, calling sweetly.

Knowing slips within unknowing.

My spirit’s subtle!

Blossom’s grace embraces fire,

and free to be – now flying higher!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Hope’s grace

A woman attacked alone in the dark,

A robber assails with knife and the shock.

The fear that leaped up to devour and consume,

now feeds in a frenzy in a heart torn by gloom.

She sits and is broken – her face stitched and torn.

Her heart is so empty – she sits all alone,

The health care is broken, her tendons are cut.

She needs hearts that bear life and help her to trust.

 

Grace is so so willing to reach and to weep.

It takes just one action so eyes can light up.

A presence envelopes as a hand reaches out.

A heart that is gentle, stills death’s hateful shout.

Moments are precious, when fear meets with love,

it’s gentle yet present, and halts frenzy’s shove.

When Spirit caresses and pours helping balm,

on wounds that are ragged and torn by much harm.

 

Hope is the answer! It rises above.

It infiltrates slowly, and awakens the dove.

The battle is fiercest when fear has to flee.

Yet when it is vanquished, hope’s grace sings to me.

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Breathe with me

Courage – so needed when I need encouragement.

Hope – that lies so quiet on the floor.

Death it seems more bright than light,

and yet the fear it burns a hole.

 

Why, do questions seem to choke?

How could silence reign amidst such vicious scores?

When will all these haunting sighs,

be choked so I no longer cry?

 

Life it winks so feebly.

Yet still my soul is called to mend.

The grace I need is some great heart,

to breathe with me

and ground me firm,

within the gift of who I am

and believe so I can be.

Author – Bill Tidsbury