Ramrod Blues

Cherrylaine MacBride sat up straight like her sainted Mama had
taught her, prim and proper with her delicate hands folded in her lap.
She watched the silver-lined raindrops fall from heaven,
skitter-scatting across the two lane backroad country asphalt. Her old
wooden rocking chair creaked and groaned in time to the gospel beat
emmanating from the Philco radio she owned. Cherrylaine hummed along
with Lisa and the Southernaires.
She knew all the words to ' I'll Fly Away Sweet Jesus ',
but waited in anticipation for the wailing mandolin solo that always
accompanied their 4 part harmony.

The fire and brimstone preacher began his never ending sermon. " Just
as the beauty of Heaven is in the eye and mind of the true believer who
beholds the faith in his heart, so is the ugliness of hell in the
disbelief and faithlessness of the sinner. My friend, which are you on
this most wonderful of evenings? "

She dismissed his words, tuning him out, just as she did everytime his
voice cut off the angelic music. All week long she had thought about
the hidden pain in her heart. Wondering why things happened the way
they did, sometimes with no rhyme or reason, no saving grace to speak
of.

Walking back inside her tidy little home, she sat at the kitchen table,
leaving the preacher to preach to the booming thunder and streaks of
lightning..maybe they were in need of God's salvation. Cherrylaine had
everything she needed, as the words came tumbling from her soul.

Ramrod Blues

I'm way past fighting these ramrod blues
Who gained unlawful entry to my heart
They've taken over rusty locks, depleted stock, and pickle barrel
Floating in with a catch of Red Tide Fish
Now I'm their willing hostage, content with no control

I wish I could say I feel like talking, but lately it seems I
don't
I wish I could say I feel like feeling, why should I when I won't

The words..where are the words that would keep me company
They abandoned ship when I hit that frozen iceberg
Oops, they tell me that I've spoken out of turn

I'm glad it's not a dead end game
Playing Russian Roulette isn't really to my liking
And yet..and yet..and yet
Life doesn't meet my expectations either
So the answer is a convoluted question
Do I spend what's left in breaking rocks
Or standing in the hardest place of all
Where my every movement is constricted

It's time to show and tell
My quirky lips are upturned, smiling
There's a sparkling diamond in my eyes
I can't keep the blues, when I have my writing
It's the saviour from my selfish twisted sins
The burning passion as I live and I survive

She finished just in time to see the storm clouds breaking, and hear
the preacher's parting words. " Be sure and keep those howling hound
dogs of depression locked inside their house of blues, cause once
they're loosed, that's when Satan starts to rule. "

The starry sky and yellow moon set a perfect backdrop to the acappella
ending of the day. It's as if God, Himself had looked down in favor on
Cherrylaine's works as Lisa And The Southernaires, His own handpicked
Angels began to sing..

' Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee
All through the night
Guardian Angels God will send thee
All through the night. '