My heart is not the same.

It is worn and torn,

But every now and then

I feel it beat...

And I know

That You're still there.

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I know I'm not a hobo... on a train

But I feel like a vagabond... just the same.

My soul is like a wayfaring stranger,

Unable to settle down

Who's always just passing through

Going from town to town.

If I could just plant myself...

By a stream and let my roots grow...

I'd raise my branches toward the sun,

And bend when the wind does blow.

2009

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If you sell your soul

Can you ever get it back?

Have you ever felt something

Slipping slowly from your grasp?

When that something lost is so vast

Can you just go on?

When you're in the fight of your life

And loose, can you forgive yourself?

When life's parade passes you by

Do you bother to wave?

Can you keep asking the questions

With answers too hard to face?

Ca...

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With my birdfeeder full

A bountiful supply

I think I'm giving nature a hand.

But as I watch nature unfold

It is she, that is helping me

By including me in her plan.

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Without you

I splatter.

I drip. I drop. I spill.

I am paint.

I conform to your will.

With you

I am bold, intense.

I shine.

Or I am quiet and reflective.

But I speak.

My life is a canvas

Ready to be filled.

I am paint...

I yield.

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In my innocence I was brave...

And knew no fear,

No boundaries, no limits, no doubts,

Unable to imagine my spirit contained.

The sky was open...

Then came that ceiling,

That flattened the top of my head,

And crowded my dreams with fear.

The ceiling was clear...

You could see right through,

Unwaivering and unmovable it sat,

Intending to crush my dreams, so...

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The driftwood floats,

Down toward the rocky slopes,

Without a care in the world.

"I can't be bothered by those jagged rocks now,

In this cool water where I enjoy my ride,"

"Besides, there's still time to turn this around,

If I could just go against the tide."

"What a life this is being driftwood,

Where I go next is anybody's guess."

So I smile like nothing's the matter,

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Why do poets ponder

The birds of the air...

For their beauty, their freedom, their song?

Why do they find peace in asking

Questions that begin with why?

Why are they so willing to share

The inner most part of their soul,

Hidden in symbolic mazes

With hedges high?

I guess what I'm really asking

Is why do I?

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Ladybug, ladybug on my wall

It was there all summer, but now it's fall.

It was there all season, but never found reason

To stand and fight, or take off in flight.

It just clung there helpless.... on my wall.

Afraid to stand, afraid to fall.

Not really sure about its gender,

Just watched it miss out on life's spendor.

Was it waiting there for a man?

Or for someone el...

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While most other birds sing a duet,

Or with a chorus hidden up in a tree,

There's a little bird that sings loud and proud, 

Alone, but in harmony.  

This little bird sings outside my window,

While the rest of the birds are asleep. 

This little bird sings with depth and conviction,

While others can only dream.

Where does it find the courage 

To stand alone and sing?

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