point of view

I didn't categorize this as poetry because it's too long, and if it was a poem I would try to have some sort of understandable progression of thought instead of popping along from one thing to another.  In short, I don't really know what this is :) Today the sun warms the chilled February birdsong, yesterday the fog drifted sleepily I'm having trouble keeping up with this steady passing of time life continually slipping on past the days a blurring of the calendar,  trying for more sleep, more food, to remember my weakness but it would be much handier to be invincible, to have enough time to plan and dream and learn the nights are too short but my dreams are flashbacks moments and faces I've treasured and sometimes forgotten it's a strange place to be. Oh Love, that will not let me go, I rest my weary soul in Thee Odd, bumping into that loneliness whenever I turn but I have so so many to love so many to cry for and this ...

My brother's voice was one of 300, earnest and focused so the praise rang powerful, and stilled our hearts but I wasn't riveted until they took the stage some in wheelchairs, some shuffling and fidgety, broken bodies and broken minds.  in between, the 'helpers', perhaps the only ones who could really sing but the helpers were not the serious ones, oh no those who made the less beautiful noises were much more serious, earnest, eager and in all this beautifulness there was a lady in one of the wheelchairs not much hair, a bright pink bow perhaps a little frightened and when the spotlights fired up she winced cowering under so much glory it hurts our eyes, you see and my heart sank as she covered her face with her arm if I could, I would have said "don't!  you're going to miss out on so much!" ah, but I know the feeling it's just too much I am broken too I just can't handle glory like an Israelite cowering at the shining face ...