They can’t wrap their heads around it
No one can quite put a finger on it
Everyone’s a little bewildered by it
A few are very frustrated with it
But I have settled right into it
Such is my life… a joy seemingly straddled by sacrifice and solitude.
Why do I go it alone? This lifelong interview has one question and no one understands my answer. It’s organic, defeating and empowering…
I am cooling in the shade of settling.
Settling begins as a means for playing it safe; facilitating one’s fears into a logical discourse. In its midlife emerges a short-changing of sorts; realizing there should be more, you feel trapped with no clear way out. As settle matures, however, it becomes a tool for navigating towards a greater good, shaping the journey to the bittersweet end.
I traveled many fields and climbed many trees before choosing this one.
At one time, I ventured for the bitter bite. Eve – reborn – I settled for the subsequent fall, not understanding redemption’s power. Initially, terror strikes the heart of the virgin eyes upon the scarecrow illuminated by the beaming heat of the unforgiving sun, which will shine even if you melt away. Melting is easy. Disappearing into –this is it– feels brave, but is only a succumbing. Getting past it is paramount. So, I did… every time.
Spiritual sophistication evolves, if you let it. Winning over others, as well as “winning” in and of itself, loses attract-ability if you play the game long enough. You begin to measure the opportunity cost of your life. How much have I paid to be a part of another’s destruction? Why am I only part of a team when someone needs a quarterback to get sacked? When will the all I give be returned to me in like kind? Hmm… well, the benefit here is discovering that something greater is deserved; something better than what you’re getting, something grander than a muddled spirit. The lesson, however, is that one turn does not earn another. The resolved heart and soul must execute their being with exception.
How the rest is walked out is essentially a measure of comfort and culpability. What am I okay with giving away freely and what am I okay with being accountable for, because knowing makes you fully accountable for your choices. My choice grants me acceptation and frees me from expectation, but the caveat is a devoted hopefulness. I have settled into a joy unaffected by failing reciprocation, loneliness, personal injustice and the chilling atmospheres of temperamental circumstance. It is a settling because it is not a natural choice, but a selective one… a peaceful one… a discerningly intelligent one which challenges my heart and its proclivities, occasionally on the surface and constantly in my depths. But I am settled.
Yes – I am sufficiently settled, cooling in the shade of my scarecrow and grateful for its inability to consume me.
Still… there is always hope.
By the way, this is outside of my comfort zone because it is a free thought piece. While it is thought-out, I tried my best not to sensor or rhyme or scrutinize it too much. It feels like more of a journal entry than a “piece” to me, which is definitely a bit uncomfortable. 🙂
I’m amazed when
work isn’t life and
life isn’t work; when the
dollar that I earn fuels
more than the daily churn, and
the air that I breath is more than
a means for concern. This burn gets
lost, vacating definition; who has
bandwidth to petition the “why” that
substantiates today’s existence when
yesterday’s fog and tomorrow’s blur only
leave room for reason’s resistance.
Toil evolves into an ever-give;
ever-give amounts to the way I live; living
gets forsaken by the cost I pay to grind, but
since that’s always been, I guess I shouldn’t mind.
Daily futility tempts the soul
Nights and days unfold in vicious layers
So many players try to take hold
of a stayer by turning blind ears and
numb hearts to the truths imparted
Therefore, it’s best to just end where it
started – in silence
Deeper than physical, verbal violence
is a game changer at the core;
no good in store for forbearance forgone
Right or wrong, it is better to mend than
get caught up in the bend that
can send away a spirit to mix
in the depths of a fix fixed on destruction
Such eruptions cripple ties, forge spies,
breed despise and leave eyes cutting
through blinks of rebutting and, well,
there goes the neighborhood because
did didn’t equal should and
all that’s left is not for the greater,
but just no good, and
A tool meant for use before
disassociation was the excuse, leaving
circumstance as the dominant state
Reevaluate the stakes of loose tongues;
the rungs on ego’s ladder that leave you
high strung and choking, evoking life’s
standards when you could’ve been
exceptional, leading the processional
of those risen above, intending
in the love and lifting up
with dignity a reigning in humility
Licking the icing on the lower things in life
Flipping childhood memories on the edge of Newton’s knife
Calculating gratitudes against the scales of strife
Pondering the lessons gleaned from being darkness’ wife
Talking relativity and loosening up the scope
Walking out the seeds of faith to harvest greater hope
Reliving through the tragedies to prove I didn’t choke
It’s not about the bloody breaks, but how you choose to cope
Nice to hear the vibe is raw, though it lives in spite of praise
These words are not a work of art, just a thought that’s been delayed
Wounds may heal, but I suppose, it depends on how they’re made
The strength of a wall that will not fall lies in the brick that’s laid
Suited up, defenses ride out layers of the heart
Crossing finish lines just so I can press restart
Dragging all this laundry ’round, but I won’t play the part
Flip the script and roll the film, the horse trampled her cart
Running free, these strokes unleash the all that I’m made of
Unyielding ox… cunning fox… gentle fleeting dove
Holding nothing firm accept His universal love
Dropping rhymes below, so I can keep my head above.
Silence was my best friend;
Not knowing which shade of consequence
at the end of a spoken word
Losing self in distant dreams;
Finding lessons through daunting means,
while ends remained unmatched
On shaded grounds I nestled;
away… at peace…
Hidden by nature’s camouflage ‘til
heaven’s moon stole my reprieve
Longing for my tomorrows;
not now… not here…
The life I’d rule with love and wisdom,
instead of rejection and fear
Listening closely to the world;
this heart… no wall…
Absorbing all of life’s dark hues,
seeing light within them all
Time was ever slow to move;
so still… so stale…
But change – a rabid thief in the night,
ran rampant as a fleeting gazelle
No one seemed to measure up;
not them… not me…
No portion or package good enough;
how could we all just be?
Holding my breath as I marched;
in place… alone…
The rambling mind of a drifting child
whose knowing was her own.
In and out air flows,
with this pulse blood goes;
head to toes, I am the proof
of the matter.
Flesh and bones,
within me roams
the good and evil that swells
from humanity’s clatter.
Kissed by Glory,
the center of my story;
a smoldering river running
through life’s winter.
And there is where
all the power reigns bare;
a ball of flames igniting
Disarming, spin of wire;
discharging mystical fire,
rolling out the very stuff
we must unfold.
universal spirit lover;
walking out mercy and grace
as scripture’s told.
spilling over into worlds who
want the drinking.
From here all words,
soul’s thoughts be heard;
unleashing love, the deepest root
for all the living.
self-regard left out,
braving the path for
to where my earth
meets Heaven’s hearth
and Holy hands commence
the gentle blending.
Without an ear,
but still it hears;
and though no eye nor mind,
it still believes.
For all it knows,
His Will imposes;
and in surrender, with one voice,
rejoices and grieves.
I’ve a force in my depths
which sets me free.
Along the way,
others too, I sway;
by way of this supernatural
heart living in me.
Come float upon the breaths which gift the spirit’s flight
Weaving through each finger the feathers of hope’s delight
Knowing not what lies beyond horizon’s reddened light
Still a worthy venture, clawing past despairing night
Flying high on faith, within the broken heart’s cocoon
Landing on the Rock to bask away life’s deepest wounds
Wading in the glory, for every midnight has its moon
Dancing with the story, for every note reveals a rune
Compiling pieces of the journey into a span far and wide
Watching soul begin to soar as all but joy will soon subside
Casting light between all clouds, on these blessed wings I ride
Ensuing peace, for everything a rightful place beneath God’s eyes
No one heard it;
the way my inflamed soul crushed
its gentle spirit
Loosed from Heaven’s cradle,
submersed in this rancid pit,
freeing roses from my grasp as I
inhale life’s constant shit
Granted breath amid the remnants
of tainted hearts and tattered loves
Sleeping still among the blackbirds,
while dreams nest between the doves
Fate has never known my heart,
desires – too small for this will, hope…
has yet to render goods worth the
balance of sorrow’s bills
Conforming child of fluid girth,
lucid mind without a voice;
maturing youth misunderstood, as
inner worlds escaped the noise;
misguided lass breached into being,
ridiculed for the light in seeing;
locked away the depth of self just
to glean conditional heeding
From a time of unconditional ceding,
a chronic mask of nod and smile; a
sacrificial traveler en route to redeeming
ankle-strapped to unyielding meanwhile
Accumulated breaking for a lifelong bend,
slow-flame burning at the stake;
rendered full-circle by the stretch which
stirred myself into awake
Selfless mission now aware, my
deeming mind makes no mistakes;
only, healing circumvented this
lowly heart still on the take.
When the beginning of the end opened my eyes,
life capsized for the drowning of my soul.
Swallowed whole into the belly of darkness, this
starkness of disillusionment made me fold.
Distant and cold, I drifted through space
unlaced from the purpose of my being, not
knowing the needing in my displacement, the
torment of existence without redeeming. The
seeming overwhelmed. Meaning lost in sacrifice –
a constant price for the deeply seeded seething.
Then, seeing pierced my heart to restart
and apart fell my context for breathing.
The receiving – a reconstruction of my worth:
Love’s rebirth into eternity’s foundation.
Spirit awakened and inflamed to the core,
now adorned with joy, spitting game to nations
by way of salvation through mercy’s open door.
What’s more, with this sifting comes a granting
to hold the ranting and give the lifting – a
daily gifting of hand and hope, an expanding
prism scope of the brilliant shades of faith; just
a taste of the depth of deliverance, displayed
with reverence for God’s illuminating face. Wasted
no longer – self salvaged by everlasting grace.
Perhaps my heart will fall apart…
Each restart is a higher climb, a
broader sea for my mind to find
those pearls worth working hard for
I guess I’m here to be adored, but
can I spare another exit from my soul?
Never a part, always more than whole;
I surrender everything needed,
freely or conceded, but
for what is love, otherwise?
It is not wise – it is not worthy;
unequally yoked, lacking survey,
more than whims, but not infinities, a
source of strength that will destroy me
– nothing resolute.
Standing astute, I carve the edge
where charms fall short and hope is bled,
knowing that distance plays my hand
with shield and sword, nonetheless…
Life is my prison, and Faith – the ward.
This light that shines also betrays,
drawing nearer all that sways, and
though I run, there’s no escaping the
unexpected beau in waiting, no matter
how intensely my eyes are shut.
So, what the hell, I let it go…
release myself to feel once more
the rush of all divinity on earth;
pour out the brilliance of my worth upon
the end of a thorn that says “this hurts”
No, not a fool, though it may seem;
rather, a dreamer with titanium wings
All these blows that crush the tepid mold;
all these screams inside that won’t be told
– a greater means for love’s unfold
A process filled with many leaps; a
vast containment with tiny leaks; and
though I lose, victory has peaks, so I
swallow hard and brave the ride,
praying somehow I’ll survive…
this ebb and flow of tragic beauty;
finite space for eternal duty; taste of
forever with nowhere to start;
indestructible force within my heart;
the deeper knowing I long to impart
before it all just falls apart
Two words my mentality will never dismiss;
from the twist in the tragedy, to the
depth of the bliss, to the
tremble and the breath at the edge of a kiss.
I exist in this head;
know the bite of its blade,
ride the curve of its arc, while I
bask in its shade.
Every moment that lives –
replay the end to the start;
a sliding scale of B-Sharp that
falls off at the heart.
Oh, and there won’t be trust;
ledger’s full, ink is dry,
etching each of the truths
which fed my soul lies.
No flow can exist behind the
pain in these eyes, for as
lips murmur love, the
deeds call out spies, and
the whispers they share
dam up nature’s rise ’til
fertility’s numb and free-spirit is wise.
Wearing no more than the
face I’ve been given.
Knowing no more than the
weight I’ve been living.
Grasping no less than the
hope I believe in.
Faltering faith from these
thoughts that I swim in.
“Analyze this…” is the
mantra I dwell in, but
I’d rather be void of this
Conductor of rhyme with
bullets of reason; every
marker of time – my own open season.
Firing off because
there’s just no pleasing
a mind that won’t stop and a
heart filled with treason.
If for only a moment, I could
hold to the seeming;
I’d rather be void than
driven by meaning.
Crushing this rushing of desire; this
thirst of a heart on fire… running renegade,
compromising empires where altruistic gains
fall lame to crippling wants; where
the weight of sacrificial tithes daunt ’til
all feelings become numb.
Suppressing the stressing of the
center of one, when grounded loses to
dumbfounded in the fog of disheveled sun –
no longer shining in the twining of rays
misdirected, beams affected by the
neutralizing force of energy’s first clause;
there’s no applause for lost place.
Course correct to brace oneself for the
race of all time; floating soul against
sprinting mind, with pace car labeled
“I want mine” always perpetrating its cause.
How will eternity define one’s presence;
the cost analysis of one’s essence…
Captured in the rapture of self set high, or
Freed upon the wings of an angel’s uprise?
There’s no surprise in tempered living; only
seeing and forgiving; only
ends and new beginnings inside
this perpetual cocoon, where soon is
relative to temperament and doom is
realized through sentiment and formidable truth is
the echo no one wants to hear.
No more fear masked in its vices, wearing
shades of our own devices, hoping
next time ’round the will won’t be averted.
In and out these breaths are measured,
holding fast to spirit’s treasures; knowing
life by way of desire leaves much deserted.
For Dungeon Prompts: Desire. I’m a week late on this one (sorry). I’ve been traveling (still am), but had a window of down time at the airport. 🙂
Burdens aren’t so hard to bear
when you’ve always lived there;
on the upside of the yellow stripe,
where all the extra piles on.
Taxi confessions turned on and
I’m taking them for a ride
to the other side of heavy, as the
beings from seemings
into the skin of my universe;
where I feel each pitted verse
along the grooves of my pulse.
This is a one-way conversation.
Regulations won’t carry my story
to the news.
I can’t be the muse when blues
only belts in the sound room
of my soul. And so I roll.
But the backseat chauffeurs
breaking headlines – the stuff
others’ dreams are made of – from
stations to pit stops,
bottomed-out alleys to rooftops;
these lids folding with the flipping
of every page, watching each dance
take its stage in the heart of my
The seats are stacked and I’m
pumping the brakes for another
thumb on the run…
capacity won’t fill in this expanding air.
Bring on your weight and the
luggage to spare.
I am your right here, and the
meter goes black until we find there
someone’s got something to give
and no room to take, but I will
relive the stakes with you;
carrying these fragilities within
the armor of my mobile fortress,
until I find the key to my exit door.
For Dungeon Prompts: I’d Still Like to Learn…
As someone who always takes on the burdens of others, refuses to share my burdens with anyone, and seemingly carries the heavy load effortlessly; I think it will be wise for me to eventually learn to move out of the “loading zone” and, perhaps, even unload some of the pile up already sitting on my shoulders… just sayin’. 🙂
And then there were four…
An angel dipped in vixen’s smile
A pixie lodged in Heaven’s meanwhile
When I am we and
we are she, and
all these truths are simply me,
fighting pasts so future’s free
A hidden heart upon my sleeve
This wounded soul without reprieve
Baring little and
giving all, and
smiling as the guillotines fall,
turning oft’ from the wretches’ call
A fallen spirit which bounces back,
still laying low neath doubt’s attack
Letting go and
holding tight, and
though I’ve won, I lose this fight;
a day’s victory that weeps at night
Looking out to go which way
I mustn’t pause, and yet I stay
One foot out and
one foot in, and
every end is where I begin,
losing sight of enemy and friend
I cannot measure; I am no judge,
but at this core is always a nudge
I know right and
I know wrong, and
still I question this depth of song;
an ego so weak, a passion so strong
Quietly pacing sophistication’s floor
Clinging to beats ‘til sound plays no more
Shish this mind and
scream this soul, and
bite this tongue to shield my core,
while spirit runs wild forevermore
I have a rather diverse personality, and am not one to necessarily “hide” who I am, other than for the relevance of context. I won’t be the dancing wild child at work or the rigid supervisor during service or the reclusive loner in a close relationship or the sensual partner without a betrothed… and, still, I am all of these and many more dichotomies. Perhaps the thing I always am is a nurturer… a fixer… the one who wants to make all things right; but I even tire of that innate calling, at times. Sometimes, my “kum ba ya” becomes “go over there… please!” Ha-ha. Well, I don’t know if I’m necessarily revealing much. As an all or nothing person, my “all” isn’t necessarily everything and my “nothing” is far from empty… so, make of it what you will. 🙂
Bellows burst open the careful seaming of my soul,
as I lift up my being to the Lord.
Wearing this offering best with abandon; if I
arrived clothed, soon I won’t be anymore.
Love rises from these faults and failures, like
the trembling chords of freedom’s first cry.
Your embrace unfolds all my secrets,
taking death to renew this child’s life.
Out loud, You shine through exalting’s stance;
in palms’ submitting, face’s illuminating,
eyes’ pouring out of your proof, while feet
dance in the rivers of Glory’s wading.
My tongue swells with praise, and these days
fade with moments of profound Presence.
With the salted wet pores which seep my wear, I
wipe away this playground’s dust from my senses,
leaving room for your restoration only.
Cleanse my spirit with angels’ harmony:
the blistering fire; the smoldering flame; the
gentle flicker… all the same, engulfing me.
The sound of your grace cannot be named;
the depth of your mercy to no phrasing belongs.
All I can offer in the surrender of my all –
the float of my voice upon the heart of my song.
He’s tickled through the seasons…
and I’m the reason.
Sometimes, He laughs so hard, He cries;
especially, when I am wise and
rest assured that tomorrow’s figured out.
What is that about?
wiping His eyes from winter’s night
to spring’s daylight,
shaking off all those tears.
But summer bore my soul…
and I’m gifted in this role.
I can talk the talk
and walk the walk, taking
troubles with an easy stride.
Is that right?
He shakes His head;
letting summer’s streak turn up the heat
‘til every feat
feels like scaling the Himalayas.
Now, really, how hard can it be?
Recovery is a breeze…
I’ve fallen hard with autumn’s blow, and
at this age I ought to know just how to
pick up all the pieces and move on.
Oh, girl, come on!
His insides chuckle;
while He watches my knees buckle,
low beneath the changing winds.
I say, “Look, God, let’s get this straight!
Through all your plans, I bear the weight,
weather storms and give you praise;
yet, mysteries compose my days.”
Roaring, sparks and rolling seas…
Well, I’ll be!
He slaps His knee;
catching breath for words with me.
Lovely child, do see…
you project for just one life; I, for eternity.
What does it matter –
who am I to be flattered by this portion I hold?
I sit to keep from falling,
sometimes run from the calling;
if I stand up to the mauling, will I fold?
Whipping out this tape to measure,
scoffing at this so-called treasure;
why not ride out life until the days grow old?
Hands stretched out, feeling about –
no straight line for this account;
how can life amount to more than what unfolds?
Right or wrong, we’re of one song;
each note unequivocally belongs,
as we strum together throngs to form the whole.
Every sound can be laid down
or lifted high with great resound,
only bound by those convictions of the soul.
With deep regard through darkest nights,
search the stars for Heaven’s lights;
embrace birthright for therein shines divinity’s role.
Entrusted by the hand of God,
all lives bear seeds to feed the sod.
Harvest the fruits to spread the love which bore your mold.
For Dungeon Prompt: Myth Making. The life lesson I share is that although we all are granted unequal portions in life, it is our onus to realize our worth through God’s eyes; and in accordance with His living trust for us, multiply and distribute our fruits abundantly for the good of all who dwell in this time and place and beyond.
Heart to the grindstone…
There’s no void to fill,
only the struggle of human will.
Levitation is heavy in this
soul-dropping plane of existence.
Beyond any repentance –
the unforgiving gavel of
the daily unravel.
Sizing up situations with the
skins I tailor:
dressing down victories and
dressing up failures, but these
shoes never change.
The tread is long and light.
I wear this fight
in the ease of my stride, while the
bleed of my tears tell me
I’m still alive.
From the gritty beginnings, to the
forums of scholars; from
praying for ends, to the
giving of dollars; from the
shelter of nana and her teachings
of Zion, to the
innocence of love lost in the
dens of the lions…
This rounding out of “here”
drives my spirit to “there” and
I feel, but don’t flinch anymore.
What’s more, my falls don’t sink,
even when death seems like
more than a blink –
I linger in the quiet place,
‘til rise reintroduces itself by grace.
I work hard at this balance;
this artful toil of being present
where my body belongs, but
the rest of me doesn’t.
Lowly peasant teetering
beneath this diadem of glory;
like Hephzibah’s story –
Desolate form lost in this world;
evoking a light only God can unfurl.
Wielding His beacon, as darkness I roam;
this labor of life paves the way to my home.
To me… physical labor, service to others, motherhood, spiritual growth, career development, and living with integrity… are all necessary, valuable, “doable” elements of life. And by “doable” I mean… very manageable for me, without too much difficulty, given my natural inclinations toward each area. The “hard work” comes in when one must balance everything meaningful to one’s life without cracking under the pressure and breaking into pieces of uselessness that no one else can be held accountable for because… well… all the pressure came from myself; my own desire to excel at everything and let no one down. We measure ourselves constantly… in our minds, in our circles, in our societies. We size up our intellect, cleverness, humor, brawn, adeptness, victories, failures, likability, uniqueness, sameness, and so on. Even the lazy have a slothful scale of comparison. No matter how much or how little you do; how much or how little you have; and how much or how little you care, I believe life is contextually challenging. Life itself is the hard work; the adding and subtracting of the relevance and impact of experiences and circumstances through the tunnel vision of human eyes. And for those of us who relish in spiritual elevation; life is all the more intense, but in a peacefully centered way. I have been fortunate enough to walk down many trails in this lifetime. The culmination of societal extremes rests squarely in my mind’s eye and my heart’s understanding; and I would be a lesser person if I didn’t embrace this blessing. So, while I do complain often about the injustice within my bubble… it is only dust babbling. My soul can’t count high enough to tally all the good I have known. I am ever grateful for this labor of life.
“It is better to give than to receive,”
so don’t judge my reprieve
Gifts come at a cost, labeled
The bait and switch, the okie-doke
The puff and pass that made me choke
I’ve tasted freedom laced in smiles…
abandoned judgment at their trials;
fled the fort to feast with these;
welcomed dawn in the arms of thieves
All that binds reveals a price
rolled out on the weighted dice
Cloaked in love, dressed with care,
toting hope inside charm’s flair
… none of which resided there
Gripping to the slippery hand
Drowning in foundation’s sand
Holding breath on wavering words
Chances flew, as itinerant birds,
high and with purpose…
‘til the crap hit the surface
The greatest of all, I’ve given so free
Donning these masks, it returns to me
No room is left, save a wee sacred place;
tender, yet shrewd, doubting each face
No forfeit of compromise
No relinquishing trust
No fanfare for promise,
as pain makes its thrust
Not one shall transpose, attesting your glory;
knowing the book is just half the story
Save me the savor of bitter seeds sown,
staying their peace until they are throned
A crowning that rides on dignity’s fall;
I want but a piece, while you claim it all
Take what you will – consider it profit,
but please keep your treasure locked in its pocket
The sum of its docket will spoil these fruits
My heart’s not the key for unlocking your truth
I fear untrustworthy people; the ones who spend copious amounts of time camouflaging their true character in an effort to take advantage of others. If you are a brute, be a brute. If you are a player, be a player. If you’re a womanizer, drug addict, alcoholic, chauvinist, pervert, non-believer, or simply lost – not knowing what you are; do me and the rest of the world a favor and stop pretending to be something else. Whatever you are, just be real. As a person who tends to give others the benefit of the doubt (to a fault), I know all too well the pangs of disappointment and betrayal. Fortunate enough to have not developed a bitter heart, I do admittedly feature a notable level of cynicism and (probably) excessive discernment when approached by pursuers, as well as almost anyone offering “something for nothing.” True kindness, care, concern and, especially, love is so hard to come by because this society promotes and mass produces the element of smoke-screening. Whether the purpose is hiding, protecting, blending or manipulating… I think most people fail to realize that whatever your vices are – there is someone or a group of others out there who can relate to you and will embrace all your beautiful drama. I don’t know anyone who appreciates a liar, a fake or a user. Even thieves and tyrants have a code of ethics (however minimal). I am a free, loving, selfless spirit, and it’s a shame to always have to wonder… is this person for real? … is she sincere? … is he genuine? Do you know who you are… and do you wear that face publically and privately with integrity?
Here I stand
in the recesses of self-worth,
quantifying the number of deaths it took
to reach this birth.
my name is This Hurts,
and I’m a recovering Lover of Less Than.
Always been a fan of mysterious man,
maybe because father was a late bloomer.
From the rumor mill to the toxic pill,
to the “something about his eyes
makes my breath stand still”…
Whatever “it” has been to draw me
beneath his will – was ever just enough.
Just enough to
strip these layers to the buff.
Hidden worlds within my bosom
ran amuck, starved for a taste of love.
Wading trenches drenched in mud,
losing ground every time…
Grasping hope to rise above,
falling deeper down the line…
Never a blind eye, just
a heart asking why, making room
for shifting skies.
But clouds give shade, then
regurgitate rain over fresh tears,
drowning optimism in its own fears.
No part compensates for the whole;
foolishness plucks the single yellow rose,
expecting the thorns not to
bleed their nature.
This nomenclature of “half-full”
runs its course and leaves one empty.
I’ve spent years in recovery;
the first step, that is.
Perched in this corner,
nothing more’s required; if only,
love would just retire.
I could free my soul to play, but
Vice’s reach is a pinch away and
I must survive its touch.
Lovers of Less Than lose too much,
so I will stay behind these
cautious eyes and pray
I somehow recognize
when More Than comes my way.
In response to Dungeon Prompt, “I Am A Recovering (fill in the blank)” http://theseekersdungeon.com/2015/04/09/dungeon-prompts-i-am-a-recovering-fill-in-the-blank/.
a simple glance
and my heart glows
the only reason I held it together
the very reason I fell apart
the driving force behind
every gentle step and
every fervent stride
how would the void have been filled
what could I have clung to
had I remained gift-less
not a reflection of my flesh
but surely the essence of my soul
brilliant, discerning, confident, righteous,
level… all the things I never was
and also my father’s dimples
easy on the eyes
with lashes from here to eternity
heavy on this heart
which somehow loves him more every second
my soul belongs to God
but everything else good in me is immeasurably his
my reason for laughing loudly
my reason for sobbing from the pit of my stomach
my reason for doing, not trying
why I push through fear and conquer giants
the first “thank you for…” in my morning prayer
and “please protect…” in each thereafter
my joy’s companion
my most delightful and most difficult challenge
my devil’s advocate when my head is unclear
why I must survive – but sometimes let go
why the more I learn
the more I question what I know
the perfect paradox to the angst of history
the most significant justification for my presence here
my deepest of loves and only clear purpose
the hero of my failures and meaningful successes
Bound to arrive…
That final hour etched
into the Book of Life;
the point in time when
my soul can no longer be
held within this skin
To pass into Judgment and
bear witness to my
defining moments in the
seasons gone by,
praying I pour forth
more light than darkness
Lifting my chalice
filled with the culmination
of all things I couldn’t see and
those led by the Spirit,
I watch drops fall, accounting for my time,
both well spent and wasted
Heart postured in peace,
joyful to be released, yet
mourning through the eyes
of legacy – evidence of all
that was ever good in me…
my Will is torn
Faith is the All that I have to release
in this conundrum of duplicity.
The tides of change are bittersweet, not in
consequence to an era misspent and squandered,
but rather the inheritance of exquisite eternity
hazed by abandoning one earthly joy
Never a trial too great or a sacrifice wasted;
only the warmth of my being, the justified reason
for my time spent here.
Heaven on earth, he’s been…
Still, this sole affliction of flesh and bones is
simply the incarnate nurture of my humanness
Abundantly, this cup has emptied its fruitfulness;
hence, the filling up has been worthwhile
and this soul is already free to flee
the Serpent’s playground whenever called.
Time was never mine to grasp,
only the dance with which I filled it.
I’ve journeyed well in the shadow
of the Holy Hand, empowered
with infallible force and salvaged
by the unbroken sacrifice,
so I do not run to or from the
end of this existence
Whether I stay or go…
this time, in this manner, as this form
has never been before and
will never come again,
so I breathe and rest in the knowing
of right now
Resolute in humble ecstasy,
hopeful empathy and courageous
surrender to my fate;
I offer this cup unto the hereafter,
blissfully seeking purity and
faultlessness for the first time.