Ramble

Is the context in which this piece was written as important as the soul that went into it? Maybe it is for a better understanding. But if you can't understand it then maybe you can find something, a line, an idea, anything, that will stick out for you and help you on your journey. 

Sometimes I feel like the smallest soul in the world.

Finding attention in low places and surrounded by clouds of inadaquate people.

                              whispering to me useless things

         Shrewd attempts to lift me up              Bold attempts to crush me down

   I'm just a fiber, a bitter piece left behind by broken thread. Plucked off the shoulder and let go to drift slowly to my demise. 

Wait they say,

Wait they'll tell me.

I've been waiting for that switch to flip but we all too often forget;

                                                                                                          even that isn't so easy.

We must FIRST acknowledge that there is a switch that needs to be flipped...SECOND we must will ourselves to go over to the switch and twitch the necessary muscles to enable the flip of course we must hope the nerves and cells will register this claim.

 Once flipped, it is up to the switch to master it's flame to send a flicker of energy to cause an effect.

ENERGY! If only it were that easy to convert useless matter to useful energy

But my supplies have been drained.

      I'm being Crucified like Christ....perhaps due to my waiting.

He was very patient by will, me by force, yet I am still bestowed this honor to hang on a cross, a cross roads of Saint and Sinner.

I've thought to walk in his footsteps to try and be him...

                                      but I stumbled too much

         And the trail was lost.

I'm a sinner to my soul by letting it shrivel in darkness as we waited for a patience like Christ's,

We must hang for our sins but we are too small for any to take notice. So we remain lost standing at the cross which has morphed into our roads where trails are barely seen but felt by the heart and because we cannot and will not please them all we lay in the dirt as a fiber.

     Plucked from the very shoulder of Love by Hate and left to float to our demise. And as we float we search for our self worth.     We may be just a fiber but a fiber of gold, the very gold thread that is weaved and etched in God's Throne, 

                        We once sat like Him and again we may, but only be the energy we provide to stir up a wind and rise 

above

all 

odds

        and clouds of inadequate people who sullied our name with sickened thoughts and who have tried to crush the very fiber of our soul. The fiber of us, that we are, The soul once so small, I waited and I've grown! 

And here at least I can breathe again

and sit like God on a golden throne above the world in the highest of places.

  The high of my self worth and Love. 

And Love will flow for us. From our sole to our crown because we are all kings.