Nearer My God to Thee

This is achingly beautiful, in the sense that I still return to listen to it whenever I remember to do so.  I dare not say that music isn't the way it used to be, being the skeptical musician I am.  Of course music isn't the way it used to be.  Music evolves...always has and always will.  Good or bad is in the eye of the beholder.  Rather, I will say that the verses in this song, written by the hand that listened to their heart, in that RIGHT place AND time in 1841 so that this was penned...up to the point this choir brilliantly captured it...is completely unique. 

Thank you to Sarah Adams for this work.  Thank you also to all artists living or not, especially those afflicted of the heart for whatever reason, who take the moments to wrestle your words onto paper against your own grief for those of us in the future who cope.
 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rwLl5nY5WPI

Happy Young Girl

Happy young girl
Boy at her side
Locked and geared up
For the entire ride.

They chanced on a hill
Then crashed one good time
But felt themselves move
So onward they drive.

"Oh no," she says.
"What, love?" he asks.
"The cliff is ahead!"
She shouts and he laughs.

"Cliffs or canyons...
Oceans or skies...
I'm getting us through this,"
He promises...but lies.

Ideas are ideal,
Reality is real
The boy moves ahead
With pitiful zeal.

Today now they sit
And drown in the tide
The happy young girl
And boy at her side.

Part 3 of a serene moment in a little coffee shop...

Number one, you were my son,
You would have been my pride.
But Labor Day
Took you away
You left me 'cause you died.

Number two, I was renewed
In faith you would arrive
But Christmastime
Would pass me by
Just like you did in life.

Number three, you were to be
My little girl named Mary
And once again
My eyes so dim...
They watched your soul be buried.

Number four, you were the door
Still cracked to light of hope.
Your name was Chad,
That's all you had
Cause you joined your siblings three.

I'm glad you cannot see your dad
And what he has become
He writes these things
Which no one reads
And cannot see the sun.

So dance or play wherever you are and thank the Creator for such...I'm having a bit of trouble as of late.

Poem today

These eyes...can't quite see
And yet, I'm not blind
I'm not suicidal...
But willing to die
I plead the Creator
But it's not a prayer
Surrounded by loved ones
And nobody's there
I've strained for the teardrops
Yet I do not cry
I'm filled with a heartbeat
But nothing's inside
I've tasted God's mercy
And can't feel the peace
I read back this poem
But don't find release.

Change

I think that beginning today, I'll just assume this blog as a depression-oriented site. Since it is not treated as a serious writing outlet, I will treat it the way I usually do writing in general...a channel. Enjoy at my expense.