Just to Vent
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As with each post, the following is just venting. It is a sandbox for spiritual reflection.
"Outright in Love"
Out of the loop,
she was left.
All family ties
were a different thread.
In her world,
there was no reunion.
The threat of their past...
left her stranded.
So she worked for ways to move on,
to carry her tears in her sleeves.
But the drenched fabric would wear on...
she was an independent in need.
Until one day you broke through,
beyond misunderstandings and hurt.
You did not press her to feel better.
You simply sat down beside her.
At first, she had no words, yet she watched.
she was on guard, to defend herself from your sides.
She knew what she saw was good.
But she wondered what were trying to hide.
She doubted your best posture for the moment.
She questioned the humility that shared her position.
Still, she just waited there.
Waiting for you to ask her permission.
She thought you wanted more than her company.
She swore your promising look was a facade.
She knew you'd be true while she stood alert...
but would change when she began to sleepily nod.
In contrast, you cared about one matter,
the family loop she had been missing.
You were forgiveness in right pursuit,
knowing how much the woman was venting.
Still, you gave her the time she needed.
Or perhaps it was just giving her time as she wanted.
So she looked up at you, Graceful Truth,
and then she sought to find a new place
...within the Family.
"Outright in Love"
Out of the loop,
she was left.
All family ties
were a different thread.
In her world,
there was no reunion.
The threat of their past...
left her stranded.
So she worked for ways to move on,
to carry her tears in her sleeves.
But the drenched fabric would wear on...
she was an independent in need.
Until one day you broke through,
beyond misunderstandings and hurt.
You did not press her to feel better.
You simply sat down beside her.
At first, she had no words, yet she watched.
she was on guard, to defend herself from your sides.
She knew what she saw was good.
But she wondered what were trying to hide.
She doubted your best posture for the moment.
She questioned the humility that shared her position.
Still, she just waited there.
Waiting for you to ask her permission.
She thought you wanted more than her company.
She swore your promising look was a facade.
She knew you'd be true while she stood alert...
but would change when she began to sleepily nod.
In contrast, you cared about one matter,
the family loop she had been missing.
You were forgiveness in right pursuit,
knowing how much the woman was venting.
Still, you gave her the time she needed.
Or perhaps it was just giving her time as she wanted.
So she looked up at you, Graceful Truth,
and then she sought to find a new place
...within the Family.
Note: This is what comes to mind after driving through the mountains. This is not edited for correct grammar. Written for fun.
"Barely alive"
Crammed-in suffering consumed me,
as we unsuccessfully paced ourselves along the winding mountain path.
We were, after all, a long way from anywhere known to me.
And the curvaceous death-route kept taking its toll.
Each time we'd leave a cliff-hanger,
we wound up speeding down a sloping side,
into our promising, far-falling demise.
The valley of shadows was dead-straight ahead;
especially, if you include a 1,000-foot plunge.
Yet, somehow, we survived.
Instead of meeting our fate,
we narrowly skipped by.
Like a rock flung from the wheels of a big rig,
one that threatens to break glass and cause an accident-- but misses.
So had been our careening vehicle.
Only, instead of a windshield, it was my insufficient existence that had me worried.
Instead of tumbling through the far-below treetops,
a miracle slung us to relative safety.
Sure, the pavement was hard-hitting for an intended family vacation.
But the alternative was nothing to envy.
Therefore, my stomach swishes with regret,
when it could be smeared with nature.
And all the hyperventilating transitions to grateful exhales.
"Barely alive"
Crammed-in suffering consumed me,
as we unsuccessfully paced ourselves along the winding mountain path.
We were, after all, a long way from anywhere known to me.
And the curvaceous death-route kept taking its toll.
Each time we'd leave a cliff-hanger,
we wound up speeding down a sloping side,
into our promising, far-falling demise.
The valley of shadows was dead-straight ahead;
especially, if you include a 1,000-foot plunge.
Yet, somehow, we survived.
Instead of meeting our fate,
we narrowly skipped by.
Like a rock flung from the wheels of a big rig,
one that threatens to break glass and cause an accident-- but misses.
So had been our careening vehicle.
Only, instead of a windshield, it was my insufficient existence that had me worried.
Instead of tumbling through the far-below treetops,
a miracle slung us to relative safety.
Sure, the pavement was hard-hitting for an intended family vacation.
But the alternative was nothing to envy.
Therefore, my stomach swishes with regret,
when it could be smeared with nature.
And all the hyperventilating transitions to grateful exhales.
Note: This comes from the idea of that rushing feeling to express oneself uniquely. This is not a logical statement. It is merely one's venting.
"Extended poem"
The feeling of creativity is the illusion of choice.
You only think you add to Humanity's voice.
But your expressions, of course, are wrought by a King.
Your resistance is sure, but He's the one dictating.
All chance and happenstance are left to His Will.
Yet you gaily promote His Presence as being unreal.
This fight to regain control is a weak sneeze at your best.
You look sick to me, although you futilely seek to impress.
Instead of awe, you make skin crawl, when your ideas are heard.
And yet you still embarrass yourself, without saying a word.
So you turn to art, often plagiarized, to shake an idealistic fist.
But as you do your hands grow old and opportunities are missed.
So you find a sport, to gain some ground, without real concern for how you play.
But you and the King agree on one thing, you won't last long with lower pay.
So you cry for the children, while you reach for the money, while you remain in your mental jail.
This may be done in secret, or in front of an outlet; either way, you find your cell to be hell.
Yet the one whom you curse, the one you distrust, the one you question and hate.
He's the one-- while you're unapproachable, self-saturated, deplorable-- who loves you as though you are great.
So, perhaps, instead of biting at daylight,
snapping at life, and hiding in the darkness you've made.
Humble yourself quickly, admit that your picky,
and praise Him for the choices He's made.
Creativity is amazing, but it is not self-originated.
It is an extension of a Divine Hand.
You may depict it, and smear it, however you will;
but admit that its part of His Plan.
Like a child who smudges the walls with glue, eggs, or paint.
So we are with our imagination.
And God's concern outweighs all thought of complaint
"Extended poem"
The feeling of creativity is the illusion of choice.
You only think you add to Humanity's voice.
But your expressions, of course, are wrought by a King.
Your resistance is sure, but He's the one dictating.
All chance and happenstance are left to His Will.
Yet you gaily promote His Presence as being unreal.
This fight to regain control is a weak sneeze at your best.
You look sick to me, although you futilely seek to impress.
Instead of awe, you make skin crawl, when your ideas are heard.
And yet you still embarrass yourself, without saying a word.
So you turn to art, often plagiarized, to shake an idealistic fist.
But as you do your hands grow old and opportunities are missed.
So you find a sport, to gain some ground, without real concern for how you play.
But you and the King agree on one thing, you won't last long with lower pay.
So you cry for the children, while you reach for the money, while you remain in your mental jail.
This may be done in secret, or in front of an outlet; either way, you find your cell to be hell.
Yet the one whom you curse, the one you distrust, the one you question and hate.
He's the one-- while you're unapproachable, self-saturated, deplorable-- who loves you as though you are great.
So, perhaps, instead of biting at daylight,
snapping at life, and hiding in the darkness you've made.
Humble yourself quickly, admit that your picky,
and praise Him for the choices He's made.
Creativity is amazing, but it is not self-originated.
It is an extension of a Divine Hand.
You may depict it, and smear it, however you will;
but admit that its part of His Plan.
Like a child who smudges the walls with glue, eggs, or paint.
So we are with our imagination.
And God's concern outweighs all thought of complaint
Last edited:
"Time to give"
A plague is no figurative construct to mention.
It is shooting pain from another dimension.
You may pay to avoid it and hope for correction.
But your charity's misplaced, headed the wrong direction.
Go on and roll those eyes, forget the time, and sell your lies.
Go on and risk their lives, forsake all hope, and bury cries.
That won't change the fact that your act is nothing more than a paid contract.
As long as you swing your greedy wallet, there will be more bodies laid by possessions.
As long as you mean to grow rich from it, their tombstones will become your haunting confessions.
It is real, the suffering; deeper than a psalm or probing poetry.
Yet they feel, still breathing in; deeper than your accounts do (for eternity).
So change is better than riches, when souls are reached for good reason.
Exchange the patterns you live with, and listen to them this season. They may still go down crying.
They may make no sounds at all. But at least, if or when they're dying,
they'll remember you followed the Call.
--inspired by Matthew 25
A plague is no figurative construct to mention.
It is shooting pain from another dimension.
You may pay to avoid it and hope for correction.
But your charity's misplaced, headed the wrong direction.
Go on and roll those eyes, forget the time, and sell your lies.
Go on and risk their lives, forsake all hope, and bury cries.
That won't change the fact that your act is nothing more than a paid contract.
As long as you swing your greedy wallet, there will be more bodies laid by possessions.
As long as you mean to grow rich from it, their tombstones will become your haunting confessions.
It is real, the suffering; deeper than a psalm or probing poetry.
Yet they feel, still breathing in; deeper than your accounts do (for eternity).
So change is better than riches, when souls are reached for good reason.
Exchange the patterns you live with, and listen to them this season. They may still go down crying.
They may make no sounds at all. But at least, if or when they're dying,
they'll remember you followed the Call.
--inspired by Matthew 25
Note: This is no poetry. It is just venting. Still, it flowed from poetic thought.
"Waiting to sleep"
Lord, why do I need sleep, while You remain awake?
Why does every person need shuteye, while You take watch overnight?
Why do we need breaks, while the Word is active?
Why does every nation want a period of rest, while You're constantly working?
Why does a body weaken, while the Spirit builds up the humbled human?
Why wake us up, if sleep is so important?
And, if it is so urgent, why not make a world curfew and impose a universal nap?
Perhaps less stress all-round would yield the focus needed.
Until then, I wait for my eyes to close.
As I wait to sleep.
"Waiting to sleep"
Lord, why do I need sleep, while You remain awake?
Why does every person need shuteye, while You take watch overnight?
Why do we need breaks, while the Word is active?
Why does every nation want a period of rest, while You're constantly working?
Why does a body weaken, while the Spirit builds up the humbled human?
Why wake us up, if sleep is so important?
And, if it is so urgent, why not make a world curfew and impose a universal nap?
Perhaps less stress all-round would yield the focus needed.
Until then, I wait for my eyes to close.
As I wait to sleep.
EDIT LATER.... incomplete, unedited. Sorry. Many mistakes.
"Laughing Faith"
Laughing on my face,
I cannot believe what I'm told.
"The woman I love will have a child?
But we're too old."
She also chuckles at this news.
"Um, do you know who you you're talkin' to,
what your saying you'll do?"
Of course, you question as a reply,
"Why does she laugh?"
But you know the reason better than I.
Too long, we've waited.
Too long, we've tried.
Too long, we've cheated.
We're closer to death than new life.
"But I called you for My Purpose,
to save the world through your Seed.
You may not want what I'm saying...
but I'm meeting more than your need."
I am creating a gateway, the Gate for my Sheep.
I'm writing into history another promise that I'll keep.
Beyond my perfect record, she'll bear a son for all the earth.
Trust Me, her pangs and your waiting means less than what he's worth.
For through he, like you, I will accomplish what I mean to.
Remember how Lot parted ways, the man you went to save?
Well, I mean to, for all humanity, to do the same.
People, including you, try to do things a different way.
You think, "Surely, I can surpass instruction, if I have a little faith."
But you miss the point of having faith, another seed I provide.
Belief is for the masses, not a cloak of comfort in which to hide.
"Laughing Faith"
Laughing on my face,
I cannot believe what I'm told.
"The woman I love will have a child?
But we're too old."
She also chuckles at this news.
"Um, do you know who you you're talkin' to,
what your saying you'll do?"
Of course, you question as a reply,
"Why does she laugh?"
But you know the reason better than I.
Too long, we've waited.
Too long, we've tried.
Too long, we've cheated.
We're closer to death than new life.
"But I called you for My Purpose,
to save the world through your Seed.
You may not want what I'm saying...
but I'm meeting more than your need."
I am creating a gateway, the Gate for my Sheep.
I'm writing into history another promise that I'll keep.
Beyond my perfect record, she'll bear a son for all the earth.
Trust Me, her pangs and your waiting means less than what he's worth.
For through he, like you, I will accomplish what I mean to.
Remember how Lot parted ways, the man you went to save?
Well, I mean to, for all humanity, to do the same.
People, including you, try to do things a different way.
You think, "Surely, I can surpass instruction, if I have a little faith."
But you miss the point of having faith, another seed I provide.
Belief is for the masses, not a cloak of comfort in which to hide.
Lord, in Jesus Name, thank you for the varied talents and abilities that are found across the nations.
Thank you for the forgotten skills and the ones yet to be learned.
Thanks for being the best teacher.
"Table's turned"
Me and my cousins see them sleeping.
They are precious,
they are in the same house, yet different rooms,
snoring in their unique ways.
He face is draped in a hoodie,
his is uncovered, head hanging over the couch.
She is breathing quietly, with intermittent signs of life.
He won't let the house forget that he's asleep.
They are out, zonked, down for an unknown count.
This is sweet, at first, but then I realize, that was me... once.
Now I am the one watching them nod off.
Now I am the one chuckling at their respective dream-state mannerisms.
But the kicker is, it feels like it was just yesterday, when I was the one being told,
"Time for bed."
Well, I am just glad they are around for me to suggest it.
And for when that time arrives, regardless of how it happens,
I am thankful for two individuals who showed love and not only talked about it.
Perfect? No.
Consistent? No way.
Family? Yes.
Thank you for the forgotten skills and the ones yet to be learned.
Thanks for being the best teacher.
"Table's turned"
Me and my cousins see them sleeping.
They are precious,
they are in the same house, yet different rooms,
snoring in their unique ways.
He face is draped in a hoodie,
his is uncovered, head hanging over the couch.
She is breathing quietly, with intermittent signs of life.
He won't let the house forget that he's asleep.
They are out, zonked, down for an unknown count.
This is sweet, at first, but then I realize, that was me... once.
Now I am the one watching them nod off.
Now I am the one chuckling at their respective dream-state mannerisms.
But the kicker is, it feels like it was just yesterday, when I was the one being told,
"Time for bed."
Well, I am just glad they are around for me to suggest it.
And for when that time arrives, regardless of how it happens,
I am thankful for two individuals who showed love and not only talked about it.
Perfect? No.
Consistent? No way.
Family? Yes.
Hi idea,
I only kind of read and appreciated poetry in grade school and high school, but the rest of my life, i didnt like to decipher what was being said in much poetry except for the occasional poem in a sunday mag. But i did not seek them out. Anyway, now i suddenly found myself trying to say something short where i dont need paragraphs, and think ive written a poem or two?? An editor said she rereads her work before submitting to minimize errors. That is one good advice. (Pardon, i actually do posts with errors (many times) for with limited time sometimes, i just cannot keep using the back space and let others figure out interchanged letters, skipped apostrophes... what it was all about-).
I really liked your poem.. just noticed in line 6, for example, i took a while to understand u meant "Her" instead of he. Maybe u can slow down a bit, if u can afford the time anyway. Hope that helps.
I only kind of read and appreciated poetry in grade school and high school, but the rest of my life, i didnt like to decipher what was being said in much poetry except for the occasional poem in a sunday mag. But i did not seek them out. Anyway, now i suddenly found myself trying to say something short where i dont need paragraphs, and think ive written a poem or two?? An editor said she rereads her work before submitting to minimize errors. That is one good advice. (Pardon, i actually do posts with errors (many times) for with limited time sometimes, i just cannot keep using the back space and let others figure out interchanged letters, skipped apostrophes... what it was all about-).
I really liked your poem.. just noticed in line 6, for example, i took a while to understand u meant "Her" instead of he. Maybe u can slow down a bit, if u can afford the time anyway. Hope that helps.
"...just noticed in line 6, for example, i took a while to understand u meant "Her" instead of he. Maybe u can slow down a bit, if u can afford the time anyway. Hope that helps."
It does help. I completely accept your feedback. I need to discipline myself to edit before submitting entries. Honestly, I post to vent or practice or record ideas, more than for a reader's acceptance. However, because I know someone may read it eventually, I do owe it to whomever, to give it my best. I am so grateful that people are getting more out of it than I put into it. To God be the glory! --IDEA
It does help. I completely accept your feedback. I need to discipline myself to edit before submitting entries. Honestly, I post to vent or practice or record ideas, more than for a reader's acceptance. However, because I know someone may read it eventually, I do owe it to whomever, to give it my best. I am so grateful that people are getting more out of it than I put into it. To God be the glory! --IDEA
"Worth the wait"
I don't deserve the kindness, I cannot win your love.
But the echoes of your heartbeats remind me I'm enough.
I dare to ask the question; I try to answer, too.
But the way I get my reply is always up to you.
"What do you think of me?"
I really want to know.
Am I just a pain,
like what's felt after jamming a toe?
"What do you think of me?"
I hope the news is good.
Or am I an unplanned downpour,
and so you put up the hood?
"What do you think of me?"
I hope what's said is great,
but if not, then don't be harsh.
On second thought,
you know what, I'll wait?
"What do you think of me?"
Opinions do not matter.
The Truth, not subjective suggestion,
is the Desired Answer.
I don't deserve the kindness, I cannot win your love.
But the echoes of your heartbeats remind me I'm enough.
I dare to ask the question; I try to answer, too.
But the way I get my reply is always up to you.
"What do you think of me?"
I really want to know.
Am I just a pain,
like what's felt after jamming a toe?
"What do you think of me?"
I hope the news is good.
Or am I an unplanned downpour,
and so you put up the hood?
"What do you think of me?"
I hope what's said is great,
but if not, then don't be harsh.
On second thought,
you know what, I'll wait?
"What do you think of me?"
Opinions do not matter.
The Truth, not subjective suggestion,
is the Desired Answer.
Let the rain try to fight the dry-hearted world we're in. Let the sky fall, make landfall, break the pride of Sin. It can't do like Jesus' sufferin'.He did it all. He took the fall. Jesus did, does, and will be recoverin'. So take Shelter, forsake Satan. Look to love where the world's hatin'. Christ's death is now nothin; He's Alive, so keep Livin'. Let's not forget, with Him, everyday calls for Thanksgivin'. And that means Somethin' to be imitatin'. Look to project his love,... as He protects in love. And even as we die, He resurrects with love. If you think you've heard enough, imagine how much He's seen.
That's One Reason He's Tough. You think He shrinks back, when His name is under attack? Yo, that's whack! Have you felt the Spirit's Grace-impact? It is greater than the Lakers, faster than Sega's Sonic. He has more fans in more places, without moving; now, that's ironic. And He can shift more than plate-tonics. He stirs hearts, the same that seem lost to different lusts. You may think He's crazy, but there's no one you see, who is better to trust. So put your faith in Him, more than a temptation. And He'll part the stone, where your heart's been closed-in. The Good News is, He's the Living water. He can replenish and quench. He can hold up the sky, pour a rainbow from it. He can wash away sin, the effects of earth's hell. He can do so much more, but the Bible won't tell. The point of this poem, rap, song, or random writing is, Be Still And Know that God Still... Is.
--IDEA
Lord, I do not mean to poorly represent your Purpose. I do ask for You to reach someone through this. In Jesus' name, amen.
That's One Reason He's Tough. You think He shrinks back, when His name is under attack? Yo, that's whack! Have you felt the Spirit's Grace-impact? It is greater than the Lakers, faster than Sega's Sonic. He has more fans in more places, without moving; now, that's ironic. And He can shift more than plate-tonics. He stirs hearts, the same that seem lost to different lusts. You may think He's crazy, but there's no one you see, who is better to trust. So put your faith in Him, more than a temptation. And He'll part the stone, where your heart's been closed-in. The Good News is, He's the Living water. He can replenish and quench. He can hold up the sky, pour a rainbow from it. He can wash away sin, the effects of earth's hell. He can do so much more, but the Bible won't tell. The point of this poem, rap, song, or random writing is, Be Still And Know that God Still... Is.
--IDEA
Lord, I do not mean to poorly represent your Purpose. I do ask for You to reach someone through this. In Jesus' name, amen.
QUOTE=IDEAtor
Let the rain try to fight the dry-hearted world we're in.
Let the sky fall, make landfall, break the pride of Sin. It can't do like Jesus' sufferin'.
He did it all. He took the fall. Jesus did, does, and will be recoverin'.
So take Shelter, forsake Satan. Look to love where the world's hatin'.
Christ's death is now nothin; He's Alive, so keep Livin'.
Let's not forget, with Him, everyday calls for Thanksgivin'.
And that means Somethin' to be imitatin'. Look to project his love,...
as He protects in love. And even as we die, He resurrects with love.
If you think you've heard enough, imagine how much He's seen.
That's One Reason He's Tough. You think He shrinks back, when His name is under attack?
Yo, that's whack! Have you felt the Spirit's Grace-impact? It is greater than the Lakers, faster than Sega's Sonic.
He has more fans in more places, without moving; now, that's ironic.
And He can shift more than plate-tonics. He stirs hearts, the same that seem lost to different lusts.
You may think He's crazy, but there's no one you see, who is better to trust.
So put your faith in Him, more than a temptation.
And He'll part the stone, where your heart's been closed-in.
The Good News is, He's the Living water. He can replenish and quench.
He can hold up the sky, pour a rainbow from it. He can wash away sin,
the effects of earth's hell. He can do so much more, but the Bible won't tell.
The point of this poem, rap, song, or random writing is, Be Still And Know that God Still... Is.
--IDEA
Lord, I do not mean to poorly present your Purpose. I do ask
for You to reach someone through this. In Jesus' name, amen.
* * *
Reposted to make it easier to read, hope you don't mind
Let the rain try to fight the dry-hearted world we're in.
Let the sky fall, make landfall, break the pride of Sin. It can't do like Jesus' sufferin'.
He did it all. He took the fall. Jesus did, does, and will be recoverin'.
So take Shelter, forsake Satan. Look to love where the world's hatin'.
Christ's death is now nothin; He's Alive, so keep Livin'.
Let's not forget, with Him, everyday calls for Thanksgivin'.
And that means Somethin' to be imitatin'. Look to project his love,...
as He protects in love. And even as we die, He resurrects with love.
If you think you've heard enough, imagine how much He's seen.
That's One Reason He's Tough. You think He shrinks back, when His name is under attack?
Yo, that's whack! Have you felt the Spirit's Grace-impact? It is greater than the Lakers, faster than Sega's Sonic.
He has more fans in more places, without moving; now, that's ironic.
And He can shift more than plate-tonics. He stirs hearts, the same that seem lost to different lusts.
You may think He's crazy, but there's no one you see, who is better to trust.
So put your faith in Him, more than a temptation.
And He'll part the stone, where your heart's been closed-in.
The Good News is, He's the Living water. He can replenish and quench.
He can hold up the sky, pour a rainbow from it. He can wash away sin,
the effects of earth's hell. He can do so much more, but the Bible won't tell.
The point of this poem, rap, song, or random writing is, Be Still And Know that God Still... Is.
--IDEA
Lord, I do not mean to poorly present your Purpose. I do ask
for You to reach someone through this. In Jesus' name, amen.
* * *
Reposted to make it easier to read, hope you don't mind
Lord, there is someone I hardly know,
I don't know her at all.
But she confesses her need for you.
She is at the end of rope,
in fact, she wonders if there is any rope to hold on to.
She feels flung, by her choices,
into the Pit of Consequence.
And, yes, there are the trials on her horizon.
And she may already be judged by some.
But she clinging to You.
Even if she cannot sense Your Work.
Even if she cannot see the bridge you build under her swinging feet.
Even if she cannot see the Way (Jesus) you mean to save her.
She's down. And She wonders if she'll ever get out.
Help her in the way only you do, in Jesus' name, amen.
I don't know her at all.
But she confesses her need for you.
She is at the end of rope,
in fact, she wonders if there is any rope to hold on to.
She feels flung, by her choices,
into the Pit of Consequence.
And, yes, there are the trials on her horizon.
And she may already be judged by some.
But she clinging to You.
Even if she cannot sense Your Work.
Even if she cannot see the bridge you build under her swinging feet.
Even if she cannot see the Way (Jesus) you mean to save her.
She's down. And She wonders if she'll ever get out.
Help her in the way only you do, in Jesus' name, amen.
"Cards"
You sent him a text, but he has no phone.
You sent her an email, but she's to busy to check it.
You write to his social media account, but it is run over by spam pouring in.
You write a note for announcement, but the sound quality is bad.
You finally take a card, adding your well-meaning touch.
You approach who's been on your mind, and you deliver it.
He is so grateful, though he may not share it.
She's delighted, though she may not express it.
Both, however, will keep your words.
And place them on their wall.
You sent him a text, but he has no phone.
You sent her an email, but she's to busy to check it.
You write to his social media account, but it is run over by spam pouring in.
You write a note for announcement, but the sound quality is bad.
You finally take a card, adding your well-meaning touch.
You approach who's been on your mind, and you deliver it.
He is so grateful, though he may not share it.
She's delighted, though she may not express it.
Both, however, will keep your words.
And place them on their wall.
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