It’s Thursday

Hello broken wind  what is it to live in the eyes of the maker?  Does it mean that even now I can talk with you?  I am uneasy.  I am at unrest.  Should there be a storm it would only clean the rubble, and make the path cleaner…..but it doesn’t, and the journey goes on…………and on………………and here I am at zero.   Ground zzzzzzzero…….after all this time.  And at the top of the stairs I wait for a sign………………..that doesn’t come.    It’s perhaps  time to go  Home.  I once asked for freedom……..and now, at it’s door, I question ……… and ponder…..and pick apart.  The doubt like a bad dream here, ever present, ever near, unlike, oh saviour of my life the  hope.  I am a homeless child, a waif, and a vagabond.  Blind, and out of hope.  Father, I have tried everything.  I have worked, cried, prayed, set still.  I am alone.   I am void……and festering…… And this is not liberty.  I am in more bondage than ever…..and so what is love?? Here on earth?  and I can’t come home…..because I cant sleep….and dreams are for those who can’t handle being awake…Father, I am at a crossroad.  I didn’t sign up for this.  And I am weary.  Where is home?  There is no port in this storm.  And there are tears, and sadness, and a longing for a promise that seems so far in a distance, so long gone, so unforgotten.   And so I look for you, and imagine that you are here……