Back To The Old House

(My gifts just keep on giving.)

...I arrived back home
in spite of what they said.

My mother shapes things.
I never felt unloved.
My father is a carpenter.
The kind you dream of.

It was a long way there, and I was tired, lazy, and foolish. I took my time.

Because I knew better, and I became grateful.

He built this house, and as time moved on, my mother furnished it a little at a time.
And then, they said,"Pass it on."

But I became comfortable - I did not want to leave. It's so easy to rest upon light laurels.

I have always had a fear of the unknown.

One world after another passed by my door.
I have everything - I don't want anymore.

There is a lot of action when you look closely at the surface.

It's cold.
She warms me.
I thirst.
She quenched.
I am broken.
He repairs.
I am lonely.
She is there.
She is the angel of my dreams, and the provider of my life.

Don't let me leave this house.
The world is so unsettled and competitive. I'm too selfish; they want what I have.
This I thought only to myself.

I won't go.

Then they are gone. Only because I wanted them to go.
There is still so much of her inside of me.
Any more of her would kill me.

I became old.
Because you think differently, thus becoming different.

No one but my dying flesh rehearsal rag in this old home.

Mama,
pray for me now.
This is true, you should see.
Now I am a Man.
There are things we explain, but we don't understand.

I hear your call.


We're almost there...