Clarity of heart, cleansed by unmet expectations and the dangers of self protection. The Learning inevitable unless escape is your diversion. The host is challenged, seeking re-calibration to systems monitored. It is good to give things time and the dime well spent even when they were never intended to match lifted prayer. For we seldom know the way from here to there. Whether misdirection or path well tamped, poorly lamped and bit too cramped.

The Light of the World calls the shy to stand boldly, counted by the loud crowed in the middle of town central. Smiling while they point out the cracks, chips and dings, happy in the learning it brings, please as punch that the salt and light has made a Godly sort of things. There are always two perspectives even a path well traveled must be reviewed or renewed if we wish to use it for travels home. Which flower blooms in darkness or left in the shadows?

Mistakes are my finest art, making sense in all that falls apart, a brand new chart to catalogue the winding path to holiness, when a straight line should have been the path. Led by fear, pulled by bended ear, a lassoed neck, head and rear, directions were never given. There must awards for the most coin used, the worst path taken using all the wrong words and skills for those are my techniques mastered. Filled flesh waiting to be emptied Spirit.

Perfect timing, evidence of the Kings hand upon the sands of time. No longer chomping on bit but free to speak a tempered mind and take alternate route pointed out by the stout and wise. It is the size of the dog in the fight and what he ate last night that will win. Never should have failed so big, but small wins are still so pleasant it is hard to focus upon misgivings. We were once the Lords of air and a dream so fair sparking sweet the random tare, leaving bold and fresh to crimson kernels of hard ripened pomegranate husk and seed.

Standing so assured that we will never again face these dragons that rent our souls, but being honest in matured hearts that dances will be stepped, songs warbled and cases made for relinquishing or retiring to desert chambers. Yet here is the old age earned, the stories written and prime hearts remembered, in loss and infrequent victory. The hope remaining hidden in the small gift of days forgotten or cherished as we find our way to the better parts, where hearts are grown to healthy things, wings given and memories never made to rust.