The Road Hell
Tired cliche. The road hell is lovingly paved with good intentions. In my case it's ridiculously decorated too. An obnoxious array of ribbons, streamers, glitter, banderole and oriflamme. It's got a funny handle, too.
It is what we all start out with, I suppose. Good intentions. Our hearts are in the right place...there's another tired one. We set out to effect good influence and change. In my case with delusions of grandeur dancing, nay skipping, through my head. 'Yes, yes! I'll conquer the world!'. I'm Dudley DoRight, 'Here I come to save the day!' (Can you just picture me on my white stead as I gallop splendiforously through the forest. I want the boots too!)
Unfortunately, the perpetual problem that I encounter is that the older I get, the less I know, or remember. I see a problem and with ever increasing enthusiasm, I get out my climbing gear and head for the summit. Convinced that I can reach the peak!
(If you're struggling to read the cartoon, click the picture)
I just need to let that gear collect dust. I don't think I'm cut out for climbing. As evidenced by my repeated failure to reach the top. To victor the conquest. I sound like I can take this so well, don't I. What I should be conceding is the repeated smashing of the heart I wear on my sleeve.
It seems readily apparent that God is desperately trying to tell me something. "Stooooop!" (Sung on firm C natural) and I should listen to him. Or at least to the dog at my heals. If you know me IRL, and most of you do, which is why you wander here, then you need no explanation. If you read this unawares....you'll know my regard for you if I tell you. (You can ask, go ahead.)
My heart is removed time and again by that silver sword. Hence, the armor. I think I'm rather fetching in 14th Century Crusade. I can just feel King Richard's bellowing voice behind me. I can leave that tired Prince John at home...(Not mine, muttlefut. The whiny one.)
The armor doesn't make the hole go away, though. Humph, sigh. Anyone skilled with a band-aid? It hurt my feel bads...
It is what we all start out with, I suppose. Good intentions. Our hearts are in the right place...there's another tired one. We set out to effect good influence and change. In my case with delusions of grandeur dancing, nay skipping, through my head. 'Yes, yes! I'll conquer the world!'. I'm Dudley DoRight, 'Here I come to save the day!' (Can you just picture me on my white stead as I gallop splendiforously through the forest. I want the boots too!)
Unfortunately, the perpetual problem that I encounter is that the older I get, the less I know, or remember. I see a problem and with ever increasing enthusiasm, I get out my climbing gear and head for the summit. Convinced that I can reach the peak!
(If you're struggling to read the cartoon, click the picture)I just need to let that gear collect dust. I don't think I'm cut out for climbing. As evidenced by my repeated failure to reach the top. To victor the conquest. I sound like I can take this so well, don't I. What I should be conceding is the repeated smashing of the heart I wear on my sleeve.
It seems readily apparent that God is desperately trying to tell me something. "Stooooop!" (Sung on firm C natural) and I should listen to him. Or at least to the dog at my heals. If you know me IRL, and most of you do, which is why you wander here, then you need no explanation. If you read this unawares....you'll know my regard for you if I tell you. (You can ask, go ahead.)
My heart is removed time and again by that silver sword. Hence, the armor. I think I'm rather fetching in 14th Century Crusade. I can just feel King Richard's bellowing voice behind me. I can leave that tired Prince John at home...(Not mine, muttlefut. The whiny one.)
The armor doesn't make the hole go away, though. Humph, sigh. Anyone skilled with a band-aid? It hurt my feel bads...
posted by Molly Sue at
9:32 PM
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