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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Wayward Trembling Deliverancedots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Celeste J. Bell
    ASL Info:    27 Indiana
    Elite Ratio:    3.84 - 261/310/148
    Words: 398
    Class/Type: Random Thoughts/Nostalgia
    Total Views: 548
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2303



    Description:
       


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    dotsWayward Trembling Deliverancedots
    -------------------------------------------


    How difficult can it possibly be? How ironic. Few things have stayed cemented in my heart. Doubt is a mere excuse--a pretense--and ultimately a wall to cower behind.

    If each person on this earth generates an energy, imagine how our souls must be thriving! Feeding off love, growing exponentially in size; how peculiar that our bodies can contain us, the supposedly powerful energy trapped in human form..

    There has to be a moment somewhere in our seemingly long but equally brief life in when things become clear. A time must come when we are able to see without hindrance the great immovable pieces we carry. Obstacles change. People grow. Through it all we are burdened, our souls weighed down, by our fear of an inevitable truth. How do we matter? If there is no God, what is our reason for being? As intelligent beings, we must have a reason for good and bad, be it God or Karma or life biting back. Why should it be so pressing for some to find an answer while others believe the very quest to be foolish?

    In the division, does there lay any truth in the wreckage? Hollow beings set to live a life full of love and regret, pain and joy; and, better still, hope and doubt planted as seeds in our lifetime must equal the grandeur of a scheme we can't imagine with our humanly bodies. I feel that I am a cheetah trapped in a snail's body. My physical pace is unmatched by my mental need to run faster than my body allows, blurring passed whatever has been laid beside me by chance or circumstance, to the final place that my soul can peacefully rest among an aching beauty of green meadows and meaningful existence.

    Sometimes prayer works, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it helps to believe in a higher being, sometimes it feels like a waste of your heart. I'm guilty, you're guilty, he's guilty and so is she. We are human hearts dying ever second to become better than we really are. Reaching doesn't hurt at all; failing because I didn't reach far enough does hurt. It harms my resistance to doubt and leaves me feeling let down.

    How do I recover?

    Talking to God resolves a tiny parcel of me. Perhaps I'm longing for something beyond the conventional fix-all...




    Submitted on 2010-07-07 22:58:11     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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