Three taps of red heels that I will never wear, will pay your way like bus fare, to the place with no concept of scared… There’s no place like it.  You can’t help but like it.  In that realm where past and destiny are united, your soul strength mighted, body righted to the sky lid – call it kited… I’m inspi(red), to try and go beyond the point of tired, meld my weakness with my strength, something like a hybrid, and be a high bridge between what I do and what I did, far above the swirling waters of self condemnation.  Whenever I return here my heart starts racin.  The power in me awakens, and the atmosphere starts shakin as I begin unashamedly creatin… There is no place like this, no place in all of existence I could go.  No other place where “try it” is the definition of “no,” and my soul easily grows far beyond this flimsy container to knit together vision and manifestation with the threads of risk and danger, led by the needle of hope that cannot be stilled by even the most fearsome lion tamer… There are nests for birds, and dirt for the worms… The ocean for the whales, and for Satan – well… hell.  There are houses for flies, and random holes for mice, crop on domes for lice, and forests for wild animals to hike… But the angels know this best up in heaven, encircling the Lord’s throne… There is absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt no place like home.

~The Wordsmith


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