Where Dreams Die

In the quiet of the mind fears fester about what I didn’t do, or should have done, or why didn’t I try it another way.

I can’t sleep, I am reaching and searching. Not even a prayer can lift me up out of the heat. I can’t find the right words.

And words are what I make a living with?

fire

This is the place where dreams go to die. So vulnerable. Irrational. Who do you think you are? It’s the same voice in Jesus head in Gethsemane. Or when He bared His soul for us on the cross and wailed out for mercy: Father, why have you forsaken him.

Who has forsaken whom?

Only my cries don’t come out, can’t come out and she doesn’t care.

She is single-handedly focused on torching me, right then and there.

I don’t know what to do.

Or maybe I do, I just don’t want to.

Give up the battle and sacrifice myself to this war– move on to the next thing. There are so many things…

Start what you finish. A baller out the game.

Listen when I speak.  No claim to any fame.

Why worry about a legacy if you can’t even open your eyes TO SEE.

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