chichiguita's Journal

We are all like snails here

Wandering--with purpose

loping about--dragging out lives along

working and plodding to PAY

a cancelled debt. 

We want "much"--with all the trimmings

and we want--until Dove says that

"excess hardens on us like a shell"

"More" is our anthem--our sworn duty--allegiance pledged

The fit survive such things, I'm told

and still--I have to wonder

Can a snail survive without its shell?

whithout a house of wood to hold its big-screen soul?

What happens to that tiny thing

When "much" is taken

Seperated--like bone from marrow

--armor broken--does it shiver there?

Left naked--on the alter bare--like an sacrifice

--or does it dance

to feel the wind upon its face?

--the Son to blind it's eye from all that is so necessary

Once taken from its slimy home

Exposed--its sure to dry

In unprotected presence of the Son

to shrivel up and die

--or will it fly?

Can a snail survive without its shell--can I?

And still I go on wondering

about those things with feathers

that perch and sing and have no nest

Its crazy--isn't it?

Like a fox--without a hole to rest.