Child of God
Splinters
Splintered
Separate
Solitary
Single
Confined
Alone
Echo chambers
(of our own making)
Filled with splinters
(an algorithmic atrocity)
Toothpick and marshmallow statues to our stupidity
(gullibility)
Comfortingly childish but
Rickety
Spastic
(and uselessly sweet/indignant/righteous/mad)
The common glue
That once held
Has
All
Dried
Up
Your playlist is so
Different
(from mine)
Will we every sing
The same song
Again
I wake To a symphony of rain Masterfully played by earth and sky Thank you Creator And the parched ground Rendered deaf from too long without music Gratefully drinks in the sound
“This is my father's world I rest me in the thought Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas His hand the wonders wrought” (Maltbie D. Babcock, 1901) Walking with You I realize again This is my Father’s world Hard to remember that Hard to hear Your voice Above the din Of Your children Fighting But “This is my Father’s world. I rest me in the thought”
Making music with friends is the best possible way to spend an evening. Fun, refreshing, laugh out loud bad and good. How lovely to know people who let you play along, even if it is just an open D. How did I get so blessed? How?
Colleen R. Jantzen 