All or Nothing to Me
Nov 20, 2006
05:47
I recorded this audio in SEP 2006. I wrote this on the plane, flying back to Fallon, from Home, after my Mom's funeral in JUN 2005. I'm not stuck in the same place I was then, but I expect to go there occasionally, 'til I leave this life. I tried to cut out the crying at the beginning, so that's why it starts out choppy. I ended up just saying forget it. GBU, MDJ.
All Or Nothing To Me
If I were to write something, what would it be? It would be that this writing means nothing to me. All or nothing�it matters not which it would be. All of nothing hits, and shatters hot glass into me.
The blood that once ran through my veins has run cold, and drained from the body that wasn't yet old. It didn't just run through my veins, I've been told; it ran to my heart, from a heart of white gold.
It ran through my flesh 'fore my flesh had a heart...a beloved, living being from my single-celled start. Though our love still connected, our flesh torn apart. So, a bane is all writing or any such art. Appallingly pale seems all heretofore hailed as beauty in this, a world now replete with complete incompleteness, its failings unveiled.
For what in this world or this life could have prolonged her joy or her strife, had she pleaded for such? Or what from a wife spurned, or Mother who yearned for her boy might I learn may have proven too much for even a golden white heart. It emboldened the soul to behold how she held on to hope and to love. But, though love lingers long and still comes, hope is gone�having fallen...being felled on death's slope.
So slipping, indeed, yes, 'tis gone, and gone with it is any thought need for joy I once sought. Now, all of my joys and posing possessions and limbs would I give for what cannot be bought. I'm seeking a peace in this bleakness, or at least release from this chasing what cannot be caught. What havoc was wreaked I can't speak, having been wrecked. I writhe like a worm in it's grip, but can't slip from this grasp fr
All Or Nothing To Me
If I were to write something, what would it be? It would be that this writing means nothing to me. All or nothing�it matters not which it would be. All of nothing hits, and shatters hot glass into me.
The blood that once ran through my veins has run cold, and drained from the body that wasn't yet old. It didn't just run through my veins, I've been told; it ran to my heart, from a heart of white gold.
It ran through my flesh 'fore my flesh had a heart...a beloved, living being from my single-celled start. Though our love still connected, our flesh torn apart. So, a bane is all writing or any such art. Appallingly pale seems all heretofore hailed as beauty in this, a world now replete with complete incompleteness, its failings unveiled.
For what in this world or this life could have prolonged her joy or her strife, had she pleaded for such? Or what from a wife spurned, or Mother who yearned for her boy might I learn may have proven too much for even a golden white heart. It emboldened the soul to behold how she held on to hope and to love. But, though love lingers long and still comes, hope is gone�having fallen...being felled on death's slope.
So slipping, indeed, yes, 'tis gone, and gone with it is any thought need for joy I once sought. Now, all of my joys and posing possessions and limbs would I give for what cannot be bought. I'm seeking a peace in this bleakness, or at least release from this chasing what cannot be caught. What havoc was wreaked I can't speak, having been wrecked. I writhe like a worm in it's grip, but can't slip from this grasp fr
I recorded this audio in SEP 2006. I wrote this on the plane, flying back to Fallon, from Home, after my Mom's funeral in JUN 2005. I'm not stuck in the same place I was then, but I expect to go there occasionally, 'til I leave this life. I tried to cut out the crying at the beginning, so that's why it starts out choppy. I ended up just saying forget it. GBU, MDJ.
All Or Nothing To Me
If I were to write something, what would it be? It would be that this writing means nothing to me. All or nothing�it matters not which it would be. All of nothing hits, and shatters hot glass into me.
The blood that once ran through my veins has run cold, and drained from the body that wasn't yet old. It didn't just run through my veins, I've been told; it ran to my heart, from a heart of white gold.
It ran through my flesh 'fore my flesh had a heart...a beloved, living being from my single-celled start. Though our love still connected, our flesh torn apart. So, a bane is all writing or any such art. Appallingly pale seems all heretofore hailed as beauty in this, a world now replete with complete incompleteness, its failings unveiled.
For what in this world or this life could have prolonged her joy or her strife, had she pleaded for such? Or what from a wife spurned, or Mother who yearned for her boy might I learn may have proven too much for even a golden white heart. It emboldened the soul to behold how she held on to hope and to love. But, though love lingers long and still comes, hope is gone�having fallen...being felled on death's slope.
So slipping, indeed, yes, 'tis gone, and gone with it is any thought need for joy I once sought. Now, all of my joys and posing possessions and limbs would I give for what cannot be bought. I'm seeking a peace in this bleakness, or at least release from this chasing what cannot be caught. What havoc was wreaked I can't speak, having been wrecked. I writhe like a worm in it's grip, but can't slip from this grasp fr
All Or Nothing To Me
If I were to write something, what would it be? It would be that this writing means nothing to me. All or nothing�it matters not which it would be. All of nothing hits, and shatters hot glass into me.
The blood that once ran through my veins has run cold, and drained from the body that wasn't yet old. It didn't just run through my veins, I've been told; it ran to my heart, from a heart of white gold.
It ran through my flesh 'fore my flesh had a heart...a beloved, living being from my single-celled start. Though our love still connected, our flesh torn apart. So, a bane is all writing or any such art. Appallingly pale seems all heretofore hailed as beauty in this, a world now replete with complete incompleteness, its failings unveiled.
For what in this world or this life could have prolonged her joy or her strife, had she pleaded for such? Or what from a wife spurned, or Mother who yearned for her boy might I learn may have proven too much for even a golden white heart. It emboldened the soul to behold how she held on to hope and to love. But, though love lingers long and still comes, hope is gone�having fallen...being felled on death's slope.
So slipping, indeed, yes, 'tis gone, and gone with it is any thought need for joy I once sought. Now, all of my joys and posing possessions and limbs would I give for what cannot be bought. I'm seeking a peace in this bleakness, or at least release from this chasing what cannot be caught. What havoc was wreaked I can't speak, having been wrecked. I writhe like a worm in it's grip, but can't slip from this grasp fr
Today's Devotional
A Prayer for the Homeschool Family - Your Daily Prayer - October 8
Lord, I depend on Your grace and strength daily and trust that You will use this school year to make our home a place of worship and a place where we love to learn and grow together.
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Today's Devotional
A Prayer for the Homeschool Family - Your Daily Prayer - October 8
Lord, I depend on Your grace and strength daily and trust that You will use this school year to make our home a place of worship and a place where we love to learn and grow together.
