Moving Past My Past

Shall my shame be the game we’ll continue to play?
Will you, my loved ones, make display of my faults?
As one day passes into another, night after night
Will this same light shine on all of my inadequacies?
While I churn and burn inside to take a turn in life,
Will I have the chance to dance a brand new dance?
Or will I be stuck in mediocrity under sovereignty
Of another who has managed to achieve much more?
I say, ‘no!’ I will overcome with some help from One,
And the sun will shine brighter and lighter on me!
I’ll not be plowed under or cut asunder from success
Because of past failures but reach for what truly lasts!
My fate isn’t sealed and I’ll not take the bait of despair
But make the necessary repairs and move on forward!


She wants to get up and go but her body says, ‘no!’
And she would surely show the world all she can do,
But her whole frame would sue her for misconduct;
And it’s the same game today as it was yesterday:
Her mind and heart start while her body lies down;
It’s crash and burn again without even taking a turn!
And she wracks her brain trying to learn, to discern
What is happening, but all she knows is . . . fatigue;
Like some dæmonic intrigue in league
With her physiology, fatigue takes her
And makes her lie down for the sake of needed rest –
Though she’s had plenty – so she curls up in her nest,
Her best efforts remain unblessed . . . only fatigue
Ah, only fatigue . . . fatigue

Don’t Stay! Play!

You’re sitting on the sidelines waiting to play the game
But your name is never called
You’re dressed and ready, steady on your feet
And you listen to the drum beat
But you’re told to take your seat
Though you can bear the heat;
You’re wild but tame with child’s heart in an adult frame,
But all remains the same for you as you watch and wait;
Fate has dealt you a mighty boring blow for the show!
And so you still sit on the sidelines ready for the game
But your name is never called . . .
Why yield? Why not just up and rush the field and play?
Why not make this your day when you refuse to stay put?
Up, then, and out onto the field and . . .