The Heerdink-Stepek Cycle

We attain wisdom with each undoing of ourselves as though somehow the gathering of all our shattered pieces being put back not quite the same in some new age mosaic makes us all artists every time the choice is made to move forward & continue breathing in, letting it go. Letting it go can be the hardest part, yet like a metronome our lungs do the work in rhythm with our heart to create a beautiful percussion needed for the march we endure.

Everyone's going down all our bones will crumble to dust, all Earthly and Heavenly structures will decay, the brick walls we hit they too will fall apart It's a safe assumption that change, ever-present means death as well as birth  and growth When we are no longer unwilling to accept change we attain wisdom.

I’m no longer unwilling to accept the things that may not change, but it’s a safe assumption I’ll keep hitting the wall until structural strength gives way or all my bones break. Either way, one of us is going down.

Stepping into the soft skin the missionaries pause, a hesitancy of desire. Dare they find their way into a widow’s secret world, holding onto the host of Christ that just may present  a plan that could lead to salvation. Excited beyond restraint, they open the door wider. The mourner exclaims, I'm no longer unwilling.

Tomorrow is an adventure we have already had when the birds and children lay their head welcoming that soft pillow, sleep, they dream that adults tear down fortress walls and mosters use shields to protect them from the debris. Waking brings the dreams to an abrupt end. Yesterday is a game yet to be played. boys turn into men ro escape the nest but find only calloused skin & fisticuffs seeking always the approval of fathers whose broken childhood had no concept of play & instead drank away the last drop of their reason till they were out of this world before death put them out of their misery.. Meanwhile mothers moan as they, too, aren’t ready for sleeping angels dreams of soft adventures or soft caress.

Once more, the missionaries step up with a breath of hesitancy to find their way into a lone widower’s world, holding onto hope that just maybe there can be a plan for salvation. Exhausted, a door slams after the mourner exclaims, she’s no longer here .

Tomorrow’s adventures but a dream for when the little ones lay their head welcoming that ever refreshing sleep, life’s pressure will tear down fort walls built to shield younglings from monsters intending to bring childhood to an abrupt end. Yesterday’s games over & forgotten, boys turned to men step out the nest to find calloused skin & blisters only for the approval of fathers who never bothered with play & instead swallowed away the last drop of their own prime on their own way out this world. All the while, the mothers mourn if they, too, aren’t already sleeping angels dreaming of past adventures once more.