Bubbles

Trapped in a bubble,safe and secure,

the evils I know bring pain that’s routine.

My world is secure, it has limits and end,

I don’t have to worry about things I can’t bend.

Yet out there beyond, I sense a delight ,

the sparkle’s astounding and scares me with light.

The tug is intriguing, so winsome and cheery,

yet with it brings change so don’t want to hurry.

 

I’ve stepped out of bubbles, before in my youth.

I’ve sampled the vastness of life in the raw.

I’ve tasted delight and then grief that has seared.

So I’ve chosen this safety, even though it seems weird!

I know that I live in the waste of my fears.

I know that I’m drowning within my own tears.

I know that my heart feels shrivelled and cold.

Yet why can’t I go with this urge to be bold?

 

And so I sit aching, my heart groans and fights.

I know that I need love and hope that gives life.

I reach out with trembling, to grasp something new,

then withdrew in frenzy ‘cause fear’s monster grew!

So sitting with knees drawn and grief in my heart,

I wait here for someone to aide me to start.

I know I am ready, I’m needing to leave,

this bubble that’s trapped me behind walls of fear.

Author – Bill Tidsbury

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Chains and freedom

I have a name,

it once was loved by friends and all.

Last night I slept under the stars.

I sprawled in dirt; my brain was far.

So many passed by me and scoffed.

They see a drunk – and that, unloved!

 

I have a name,

I still remember! I love to speak to those who know!

Today, I wished I could be elsewhere,

With family, love – those once held dear.

I needed someone  to say I mattered,

to say I’m longed for -still beloved!

 

I have a name,

no longer held to – I have believed that man has died.

In death, I will remember I still was living,

with ones who could have helped me live.

I need you now to please remember,

I’m still a slave – trapped in a grave. 

 

I have a name,

I can not see it – its buried deep inside a tomb.

They say that name can still be resurrected,

because this one believes in me.

I’m blind! Will you who see, draw Him to me?

If you believe – can He free me?

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Revisions

History seems so very clear

until the loser rises up to taunt.

The storyline once sublime,

is now comprised of twists that shock.

What was sure, overlooked some facts,

which when considered truly,

change the story!

The responsibility lies, with me who hears-

Will I treasure truth-

or take a pill that calms me?

Truth is hard, it can stick in your craw!

It’s quirky points can be quite raw!

Truth it’s said,

can seem like fiction,

nothing’s more strange,

than fact’s rendition!

Curiosity calls – “live less knowing”,

‘cause what I know may yet be punted.

It’s through permission, I release a shift.

Perspective comes, a different flowing

– I see my tale -now I’m the hunted.

Tension lives ‘cause I can’t see beyond.

Yet live I must, though now more humble.

So I will change and shift my ground,

the truth lies out there – to be found.

Confidence grows when I am sure,

that things exist to search and find.

My role’s not been to control the stars,

I live to dance as truth kills lies.

When I am still and dare to see,

I’ll find my morrow kissing sweetly,

as truth has ripened and now I’m free.

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Leaving fear

When God seems distant and unaware,

when forces surge and tempers flare,

when all is dark and dread draws near,

what can make the heart not fear?

 

If Spirit laughs and then appears

transcending time as vision clears,

if mirth erupts and eyes are bright,

how does the shift dispel my fright?

 

How does my heart walk in between,

the dark of night and joy unseen?

How do I balance in the yearning

of things I hope for and yet not being?

 

When I stumble and seem to fall.

All is lost – and yet not at all.

For in that shock I left my fear.

I found that hope became my seer!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Blind eyes

When living in the hills of Honduras, I know that steady rain drizzling down at night gives me very muddy water from the tap in the morning. Small things that shift my daily routines!

Tropical sun blazing as the morning unfolds, foretells that soon this day will shrivel my soul with heat.  Just one of the challenges that unfold in life as you drift closer to the equator.

It is interesting how our perception of natural things shift from one nation to another, or even one culture to another. Our realities vary!

Yet wounded feelings that flow from hasty words receive global recognition. They warn that I have apologies to make so as to guard what is precious. These crucial decisions must flow from a love for which we all long.

Then there are angry words that accuse and kill. These assaults violate trust and assail every soul. It still amazes me how fear incites all humanity to take death’s scythe to bed with them!

Why is it so easy to forecast consequences in our natural world and yet live with blind eyes in regard to that which binds us into the wonder of belonging?

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Storms

“What is rest?” I asked.

I heard no voice as my mind raced seeking answers!

“How do I still my mind?” I asked.

I had no peace as I wrestled to be still!

“How can I find peace?” I cried.

I found fear as my storm of despair raged wild!

Undone, I turned from deep within, to sense the storm I could not fight.

A voice said – “I am here! Peace – be still!”

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Why?

Why in a world of so much grace -does desperation thrive?

When men can fresh design some human gene, “one small child” abounds across the globe, still caught in suffering’s bloody hate.

Billions in gold sit in bank’s deep holds, guarded darkly from any so bold to ask for food as babies cry.

Creative genius works to frame some new design to save the world, yet only those with cold hard cash are taken in within the fold.

Why in a world where many seek to protect mother earth from harm and filth, we find her children dying beneath the crush of arms bought from men whose simple vice is making gain?

Innocence is lost when a child seeks firewood outside a camp, while strong men guard with arms the post that politics says defends the weak.

Children sweat and chemicals burn while things extracted grant others multiplayer reality to fight boredom’s sorrow.

Mothers cry and fathers rage as one small child burns with heat, still waiting for the tender grace of one small dose of medicine – out of reach of poverty’s cage.

Why in a world where freedom lives and movement is guaranteed amongst a people strong and brave, do millions tread wrapped up in chains bound into servitude and violence’s pain?

A child dreams of living well, within a home with roof and chair, a bed with one simplistic cover – safety and peace that lasts all night!

A young girl dreams of a doctor’s voice guiding her as she learns to give the gift of life to others dear who wait for hope and healing hands.

A young teen dreams of discovery’s awe, as hope is opened for this earth’s redemption, while all around the tentacles of vice removes the dream and injects a shame.

Why, when so many can see the pain, do systems grind fine the ones who resist the lies?

Students stir awake and cry injustice, yet quickly lose their voice as promotion woos them sweetly.

Idealists convene to plan and scheme and then they silently diffuse their cries as we rationalize that people trapped in prisons hate, have only themselves to blame.

Living calls for action until I’m swamped by distraction’s fragrance that sings a dream that never grants discomfort.

Why?

Author – Bill Tidsbury