Realizations & Dragons
Vicki L. Sullivan
How the obedience to the other's authority can steal The VOICE of one's very soul.
Those precious faculties of will born to each child,
Are the very tenants of life, God Given treasures meant to lead each to Him to be taught.
How lost we have all become as teaching parents.
The PERILS of civilized society are more today than ever before.
For poverty produces struggle like nothing else.
Hunger. Pain of Losing Loved Ones.
Fear of Death.
All of these are but gentle messengers sent from God, snet o instruct the heart and mind in righteousness.
Americans have lost their Angels of Struggle.
Those ministering angels who bring the Salve of Comfort through Death's Time.
I have learned to speak from my own Frames of Reference.The child must be given the opportunity to struggle for Truth.
Truth is an essence of living matter
To be refined in the fires of pain.
As moisture is reaped from the elements of air,
So truth must be allowed to seep
Through those Moments of Misery.
We must not steal those opportunities from children. In our fears of pain, we prevent new life from forming true and straight.
Wisdom calls us to remember not to interfere with the teaching of the Angels of Pain.
Don't give me candy when I cry.
Don't soothe me when I hurt.
Leave me to learn in those times.
Let God provide the teacher I need.
Trust Providence to be the guide.
Don't distract me from the job at hand
By offering sweet tidbits which spoil me.
Let me weep and know my real need.
Let me see how pain feels. How precious life really is.
Or else when you hurt, I will not care.
I will only offer the same tidbits of trashy flare.
Those musty bits of my despair. I will not see the value of you. I will just have sightful spite.
Not an element necessary for delight!
Now don't wake the dragon when it snores.
Simply tiptoe by...Then bring water, food and a cloth. Or the whisper of a moth.
For the Angels of Pain, Know best how to bring rain, In a dragon's lair; Or from a rainbow fair.
They don't tickle dragons, burst balloons,
Sing weary tunes, And they definitely can't bay at the moon.
Angels and dragons live forever,
They bring us sweet whispers in our night,
Which sounds just like angels taking flight.
They bring us truth taught to the tune of a nursery rhyme, They rock us in our own cradle,
Wrap us in the swaddling cloth, Bought by Triton and Tor. And, then leave us to weave folklore.