White Bird

White bird in a rusty cage,
Becoming off-white with age,
Nearly 30 years old, 14 here,
Caged up, lonely and kept by fear.

The white bird sang and sang,
Her sweet chirps throughout rang.
She chose to be happy and dance,
Despite her frightful circumstance.

The White bird in the rusty cage,
Ignored the problem, hid her rage,
She saw it as a terrible blemish-
Until she realized that it was rubbish.

She screached and rammed the cage door
She was tired of being locked up and poor,
She wanted out of that cage so badly,
She pushed open the door, then she was free...

No longer imprisoned, no longer poor,
For her own good she now will forge,
Happily free of bars and fear,
She has joyfully flown away from here.

My Spirit's Cry

The place I go each day inside
Is a slippery slope, no place to hide.
No way to lie or deceive myself,
No sugar coating, no obscure shelf.
It's all in the open for me to see,
There's no way to lie inside of me.

If I ignore my spirit's constant cry,
It comes out in ways I can't deny.
I can shut my eyes and try to ignore,
All that my spirit is crying for,
I can plug my ears, and refuse to hear
The cry that my spirit calls out clear.

I can close my mouth and refuse to taste,
And all the more, my spirit hastes-
And cries louder and shakes me up,
I don't sleep well and my life gets rough.
I start to get sick and cannot breathe
My crying spirit in anguish seethes.

All of this I don't understand,
I beg for help from my Savior's hand,
I realize I have to look at these things,
And deal with the heartache that it brings,
And after that my spirit will sing
And I will, again I will have peace.

Climbing...

Climbing, ever climbing, climbing, climbing up this hill.
Sometimes I feel so weak, but I must keep climbing still.
You say, "hey stop climbing, baby, just rest right here with me",
But I can't lose my momentum, I'll turn into a tree.

Slipping, ever slipping, slipping, slipping on this path,
If I take the steep fall back, I'll feel the painful wrath-
Of my spirit all these years; wronged, ignored and spent
And I'll be lost forever, wondering where it is I went.

No, I have to keep on climbing, climbing, climbing and climbing still,
I don't know what lies ahead, and don't think I'll know until,
I crest this mountain, and maybe then I can get a clearer view,
Of where I'm going, what I want, and how you fit in too.

Until then I'm lost for words, except to say, "give me some space",
Solitude and personal peace is what I want to taste.
I can't do that as an acorn in your pocket; nor a tree, you see!
Just let me climb, and climb some more, what I need is to be free.