Dearest One

Where I end, You begin.

Indecisiveness stares me down,
a reflection looking rather disheveled;
yellow light un-timed.

Son never rushes to the quick,
& doesn’t stand, fire extinguisher glances at the ready-before I know ashes are falling ever gently, like snow flakes.

Dying never came so easy to a planet
burning brightly at a liar’s threshold-
I’m known for not looking anyone directly in the eyes,
reprimand for wrongdoings has become like a flesh disease I had long ago.

One wrong move & I’ll be pierced silently.
I’m too heavy- it isn’t the blankets covering. no, expectation pokes,
probes, & needles me.

Home remedies subdue a flighty mind-
honey is sweet until that plastic, squeezable bears run dry.
I can’t help to think the eyes look just as distant as mine.

Cold. Frightened. Alone.

We separate ourselves when I must
remember he is temporary company &
I ache watching as he is thrown away.

I remain, with blue reminders of goodbye-

My Father’s skies.

Freely, May I Speak?

Here’s the truth;
carpeted floor has never felt more of

Isn’t home where you’re most alone?
I’m sorry-it’s what I’ve seen, what I know.
Where else can a frightened soul here behold stillness–apologies becoming a cornerstone.
Crying heart doesn’t please the wolves surrounding places Love seeks to brighten deficiency.

If I am to verbalize, I wish it to be set in ink-my voice fails, where on paper, I find rest.

I don’t speak the same as when I talk-
yes, I still collect my thoughts before each, but in this silent act,
my heart lends utmost guidance.

In talk, ego & arrogance find strength, promising to stay betrothed to me,
my breath always stolen in the midst of my own righteous speech.

Speaking now, quiet captures what hastiness may not, would not-repentance of truthful thoughts for which my tongue would rather hold tight.

Understanding can’t come from all, this I know,
depth writes itself
where the world charts unknown;
mind, body & soul.

Where a savior has died
to make His home

Ignorance Defines Easy

Birds sing far away,
tearful abundance hushing
our inner protest: hurry.

Every day, we are taught
how to die wrongly.
Sin brings us kneeling,
rain falling immovably
& we cry, perfection is the touch of death disguised.

I won’t lie-I try to perfect myself as society sees fit.
Do whatever anyone tells you.
happiness is found in earnings,
savings, ladder climbing & artificiality.

We lose love in exchange for lies soon to pass away-
we marvel at the stones we refuse to let anyone else carry,
independence is a sign of victory,
or so they say.

Spirituality won’t save you if results aren’t seen in a day.
A man who’s dead can’t be real if He’s unseen.
You can’t find joy if your hands aren’t full of tangible.

If Jesus sacrificed himself,
why does the idea of continuous
destruction of truth simply delight us?

We’d rather be sheep.


In Sickness & Health

In a bed, I lay-
Brought back to the memory
of a hospital-my body fighting
an unseen virus. The IV felt distant &
I hoped, there I wouldn’t have to say

You held me closely-
the breaths I took Your
underlying promises.

Here: curled into a ball,
against a maroon betrayal.
You bad asked the Father to
take that cup from you.
& cried,
bowing humbly-asking an inevitable
question: why have You forsaken me?

I’m shivering under warmth, stitched exactly-man made.
Inside I imagine this bodily pain is a reply to stains previously left.

You sold Yourself for moments like these: so as the world turns away,
ailments can be made to love letters for the blind to see.

Rest isn’t material,
Death won’t bring flowers to celebrate life you borrowed from the one who first knew you-

no, rather it’ll leave remembrance of the color, first autumn leaves falling behind you-

red-the grievance we’ve been told to adore.