I’ve got choices. Its hard to believe, though its true. I’m learning it slowly, its coming more and more.
I often think of how I’ll die.
Cancer, heart attack, dementia, kidney failure, arthritis, emphysema, or stroke.
What will my later years be like?
We’ve got an IRA but I don’t have a plan for how my body will age.
So comes the phrase… “Whatever I eat today, will be my organs tomorrow.”
So… I can eat to live or live to eat. A meal full of cancer or a meal full of life. My cells regenerating or dying.
I’m waking up from thinking that illness and disease is just something that “happens” when we get old. I’m gonna get old… how I do it is primarily up to me.
Illness, I’ve presumed, is inherent. It happens overnight and overnight and overnight until my body shrivels beneath the benchmark of pain and I give up a ghost. To never suffer again. No more tears no more pain.
What about today, is cancer an illegitimate child, who is adopted overnight by some whimless mother. Or is it birthed over time. Is it in me today. Is it growing. Am I feeding it. Loving it. Needing it.
I’ll keep it till its good and strong where then I pass the key into its ever present hand, and it shuts the door behind us. The closing of a book. The hero always wins.
So, can I turn this will inside. This fiery lion within, who longs to consume the things of death. How long good soul unto the change?
Grow old and die. In peace or wrath. The answer’s in me. In my mind and in my hand.
Its one in the same.
How I have seen the dark. And let it in. And liked it there. A smallest thought. A devilish grin. To love to kill, and love to sin.
When identity is calloused, cold. When I’ve been angry so long, its all I know.
What death resides within my soul.
It doesn’t take a drawn out time, to choose if I seek death or life.
Its in my lips and in my eyes. Though I’ll blame the rest, the choice is mine.
Its quiet and it grows so still. Soon, though, you’ll see this wondrous will…
What kind of life have I become… a tempered child or vanquished son.
Death knocks not at sealed garden’s door, but to souls who linger, and hallowed whores.
To I, who will to find a way to do my bidding day by day… to have a reason still to fight, to compromise on what is right.
The trueness wanes and dims the light that once gave way to bursting life.
The opposite I’ll choose each day.. to trample through and writhe and sway until I triumph over this
Until my lips touch Heaven’s kiss. I’ll press towards the light in each deny, and shoulder turned and closing eye. These are not what He wants for me… I’ve got a choice, its coming… slowly.
Here is Lyric’s color by number turtle. HE DID AN AWESOME JOB! And had fun doing it (he loves turtles). Once again he has his silly “take a picture of this” face on. He’s so cute!
And here is Zibah circling the different sets of turtles… then coloring the pairs green and the others black. Nice job Zi!
and certainly no work is complete without a maze! This one shows a bird that has lost a wing! Help the bird find its way through the maze to the missing wing at the end!
