BROKEN WINGS
Flying
Even on dry land
Is our normal existence
But life is seldom normal.
And so we slip and fall
Crash and burn
Step on our own toes
Or get kicked to the curb
Broken, robbed of our glory
As Samson with a shaved head.
We may as well be dead
For what good we think we are.
But Another has a different view
So let us look into a different mirror
Not the one that reshaped us
Into an undesirable blob
Let us be still
And hear the faint praise
That gets stronger
The closer we get to the frequency
Designed for our listening ears.
Let us take out our trash
The words of shame and blame
Or even misguided fame
And we may be revealed
As was that old violin
In the hands of the Master.
