The rampant calling of a nation crawling.

I sit and wait for tides to change the pace of where we've been,
The knocking on the basement door, the calling of a Wren.
A nation waits in wanting need of making headway soon....
still at the drop of every hat, the whistle blows at noon.

We slowly move upon all fours to reach a verdict when?
we aren't sick, but always pouring out the inking pen.
The leaking ink which finds the page does finally get perm.
a permanent reminder that the strides we make are firm.

We wish to give a heads-up that will cause the love to gel,
while all the while we give our soles to everything but, well, we'll try again, to make a stand as clever as we are,
maybe never clever as a direct point or star.

They give and give and not just they but we as well are warned, to take a leap of faith in something other than what we've sworn.
The falling down of raindrops on the grass we've walked upon,
is just the rampant progress of a freshly laudered lawn.

If we can take a baby step each time we feel better.
Then each of us, as we make good can write ourselves a letter.
In the body of this letter there will be a rampant call,
for all to stop their lingering and crawling after all.

Tags: faith, confused, encouraging, hope, fear,