To Distract a Weary Mind...

I seem to have this immediate need to throw my energy into anything but thinking. 
I was watching The Golden Girls with my grandmother last night, and laughed so hard I cried. In a "eureka!" moment, I realized this show would do just the trick in distracting my exhausted heart and aching mind. Currently Watching: Episode 13 of Season One. 


Favourite Character: Sophia. She reminds me of my grandmother, but Italian.
Second Favourite Character: Rose. Dumb as a stump, but so kind and tender-hearted.

Something Beautiful

Everything in my line of sight
is a slightly broken reflection
of what was once so beautiful.
My dull eyes used to shine,
with a joy that you inspired in me,
And my empty hands used to hold yours,
with such light and honest hope,
but now all I have are the memories.
The tiny snap shots of our story
that never had this end in mind.
There's no rewriting, no reliving,
just the one comforting thought:
that if I look at something beautiful long enough,
then maybe I'll remember what beauty is.

Smile

...And if you stop to think
about all the moments we smiled,
you'll see that this was worth
all the pain we'll feel for now.

Because the gifts you've given me
were of a heavenly calibre,
things I couldn't have dreamed of
or even have thought to ask for.

Though I may have failed to be
the one you'll be waiting for,
I know I gave the very best
of what I was able to give.

Even though we've lost so much,
along this road of misadventures,
I am thankful for the temporary joy
that I was allowed to feel.

That joy may not translate
into today, or tomorrow either,
but in the healing and the closer,
your memory will continue
to make me smile.

Please promise me you'll smile;
you never know what will happen when you do.

Immanuel

Oh Immanuel 
Your day has come 
to bring forth redemption 
to a people so corrupt. 
And though we knew, 
of Your presence forthcoming, 
we still ignore, still ignore, 
the greatest gift we've ever received. 
Let us raise a voice of praise, 
to the day the Word became Flesh, 
because we deserve nothing, 
yet were given a King, 
of heavenly glory. 
Our king,
Oh Immanuel. 


Isaiah 7:14
"Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel."

Six

Dear Mr. Blue,

I don't understand.

My heart can't tell up from down,
It's missing in action,
So I wish I knew how to react, but
Sadly, I don't.

You're asking me to do something
Over and above what I expected, and
Until now, I would have ran the other way.

But I can't. 


Yours,

Eleanor

Here It Comes

And here it comes,
what I called for last night,
a begging of forgiveness
because I know my anger angers you.

But Lord, I can't smile,
I can't laugh. I sob.
Into pillows, into people,
into my own failing hands.

Show me a glimpse
of your purpose in this,
because the more I don't understand,
the harder it is to push through.

I will try to trust you Lord,
but trying is all I can do right now.

I'm sorry

I Know I'll Repent of This in The Morning...

I have nothing more to say,
than this:

You saw my heart,
You knew my emotions,
You let them develop,
then you took it all away.
You've broken me,
to a point of confusion,
and I can't see You
or hear You
and I want You to know
that I'm not impressed.

You saw my fleece
and my honest cries
and you stomped all over it.
You saw us on the altar,
and our offering up to you,
and you provided no lamb.

In my anger,
I have nothing more to say than this.

Gideon

Here is my fleece,
on the ground,
in Your hands,
fully offered up.
Because I can't keep it.

Be faithful to me
Oh God.
Be faithful to me,
Oh God.
I need You.

Not tomorrow
not the next day,
now.

Here is my fleece.

Isaac

I remember an offering, 

not to many months ago, 

where I was offered up 

to atone for your mistakes. 

Twice I was put on that metaphorical altar, 

against my own will, 

(but yet so very willingly) 

and each time there was one result. 

And I prayed to a God

who allowed me no peace, 

but only allowed the remaining truth, 

that you were not to blame. 

The second time you saw me, 

broken for a crime you committed, 

your hands were no longer clean, 

and your heart was no longer locked up. 

So we prayed for redemption

and a healing of our scars, 

and your words became beautiful, 

and your heart became honest, 

while my words became strong, 

and my heart became forgiving. 

And something emerged 

from a box we had placed our God into. 

But now the altar is prepared again, 

a third and final time, 

but this time I am not bound alone, 

we are bound together. 

We offer up

our dreams and desires, 

our hearts and our lives, 

to a God who deserves all of it. 

And we trust in our Provider, 

since he knows our very souls, 

to remain faithful 

whether a lamb appears in the the thicket or not. 

Osterich

To those who subscribe
to fluffy, flowery, rose coloured faith:
You're fooling yourself.
Utterly, totally, fooling yourself.

If you think sanctification is fun
then there's no work being done,
and if you think surrender is easy,
then you're just holding back.

Because really,
the refining is painful
and challenging, and long.
And the offering up
of a life you think is yours,
is to die to yourself,
every morning, afternoon, and night.

To those who subscribe
to a surface level, mushy gushy faith:
wake up.
Get your head out of the proverbial sand,
and wake up.

When You Sleep In

You sleep in,
through the rain and the windy weather,
dreaming your mornings into afternoons,
while I wait, wait, wait,
for you to wander downstairs.

And I wonder,
what it is you're dreaming of?
Is it the sun and the sky,
the paradise in your mind,
or could it even be,
me?

I call your up to your room,
ring ring, ring ring,
and I talk to your voice machine,
asking her to tell you
that I'm waiting.

Yet, in reality,
I smile inside myself,
knowing you're tucked up,
warm and safe,
while I sit here daydreaming,
of you.

Sometimes when you sleep in,
I really don't mind at all.

Someone Else's Prayer (3)

Jesus,

I am sure of nothing

but this: 

The fact that I am desperate

for more of your truth, 

more of your Word, 

more of all that you are. 

I need nothing but to surrender 

to your will and your ways,

But my feet hesitate, 

and my hands slip, 

over and over. 

It seems the only thing 

I never fail at, 

is failing. 

But Jesus, 

I see your faithfulness, 

as a promise, as a truth, 

and I will believe. 

Though I hesitate, fall, and fail, 

I will believe. 

An Open Fist

My fist is clenched,
knuckles white, palms red,
and it's clear that I'm holding on.
Because if I don't,
I'll lose you to the wind,
lose you to the rain.

I'm tired,
of the give and the take,
the give and the take take take,
so I will keep you hidden,
from the One who always sees,
from a God who always sees.

And we sit and cry
as if the end has already come,
as if the wind and the rain have won,
but we've yet to step outside.
We compare, contrast, categorize,
making sense where there is none.

Our incapable hands,
will be chaffed and bruised
if we continue this foolishness.
And as much as my heart
wants to keep you tucked away,
I know if I do, I'll lose you indefinitely.

So stand with me,
and raise your hands.

Such Praise

You hold me

like a mother holds a child

like a lover holds his wife, 

and I am fine. 

I am held, and I am fine. 

With your open arms 

I feel redemption. 

With your loving-kindness 

I feel chosen. 

You are mine, and I am yours. 

And when you watch me 

fall and cry and hope and rise, 

you know I love you still. 

This heart was crafted

to love you. 

Oh, such praise I sing. 

Tongue Tied

There's a secret
that I hold inside myself,
about a darkness no one should see.
I long to tell you.
To open up these lips and let it run,
into your ears, into your heart,
but my lips freeze, my heart stops,
and I rationalize my cowardice.

You've got a secret,
that you're afraid to tell me,
about shame you've carried so long.
I long to hear it.
For you to unleash your tied tongue,
from it's bindings, from it's cage,
but you start and stop, start and stop,
and I sigh.

I start, you stop, I sigh.

In A Good Way

You ask me what I'm looking at.

I ask you the same question, 

every time your eyes focus in on mine, 

and I feel at home, yet so lost. 

"Lost," I promise you, 

"in a good way". 

Hot Coals

Well excuse me
for these pent up words
and my long winded laments,
for I have forgotten to realize
that you hardly care.

And pardon me,
for mentioning these memories I relive
retrace, reveal, remember,
for it is only now that I see,
that you don't think of me at all.

And how can you sleep
with the knowingness of guilt?
and how can you dream
when I can hardly shut my eyes?

You're still stopping and blocking, and locking me up.
You're pushing and pulling, and holding me down.
You're breathing and scheming, and feeding me lies,
You're unaware, godless, and convinced of my demise.

But do you not know me?
Do you not know who I am?
You have not chosen some small child
or some silent lamb, so easily led,
but rather a conqueror so bent
on seeing a heavenly, divine justice.
You owned the hand that fed me,
and it is your poison I now reject,
And as my teeth sink further into your flesh,
I can muster up nothing that looks like regret.

La La La

I sit under your eyes
like I would under the sunshine,
and I ask you so many questions,
all of which you have answers for.
It feels like I've never met you before,
and that I've known you all my life,
at the exact same time.

Call me crazy, if you want to
but also call me content.
Call me crazy, if you want to
but also call me afraid.
And call me crazy,
because maybe I am.

Stronger

You are stronger

than my weakness, 

You are stronger, 

than my pride. 

And though my life 

is always led to darkness, 

You're always the light. 

You've always been the light. 

Happy Day

It may as well be 

raining rainbows and sugar plums, 

because this day is like a dream-- 

a mixture of the whimsical 

and the sheer excitement found in hope.

And tomorrow may be the same, 

with clouds that look like cotton balls,

leaves that fly like birds, 

and a sun that lights everything up. 

You light everything up. 

Oh such joy!

Oh such joy. 

Block

There's a blockage.

The eloquence of my words
has fallen apart in the execution,
and when my heart yearns to speak,
nothing ever comes.

There's a blockage.

Each day filled to the brim,
yet nothing can be squeezed out
of this metaphorical creative stone.
I long for my voice.

There's a blockage.

Yes

"Do you love Me?"
I asked as you wiped your eyes.
You didn't understand my question
and you didn't see the point in an answer,
but you said, "Yes, I love you".
But when I pulled you through,
and picked you up,
you said your thanks and walked away.

Then I asked, "Do you love Me?"
after your cup had been filled,
and your joy had been renewed.
Your reply came in a rush,
"Yes, I love you".
But in your words I felt nothing,
and I realized that you weren't really talking to Me.
You were talking to yourself.

Finally I asked, "Do you love Me?"
as you handed me your heart,
surrendered your will,
and with an honest voice I heard,
"Yes Jesus, I love you".
As I cover you in my love,
I know that you now understand,
that nothing has ever separated us.

And nothing ever will.

Someone Else's Prayer (2)

Jesus, I invite you
to create Your chaos,
to reek Your havoc,
until all I can do is submit.
And from the very depths
of this weary and broken heart,
I ask you to push me into the fire,
knowing You mean to refine.
Because Jesus, until now
the only person I've been trusting is me,
the only person I've been believing is me,
and the only person I've been seeking
is me.
And in this blindness,
I can see nothing else properly
so show me Your mighty hand,
teach me the ways of Your will,
and help me to praise You
for the blessings that are often unseen.
Shake me of what I think I know,
and show me what to run after.
Oh Jesus, I invite you.
I invite you.

Tag

I sat in the third seat, 

facing the curtain-covered window, 

beside a dark haired girl 

who had the same shoes as me. 

You sat in the sixth seat. 

Some simple conversation, 

and some awkward words 

echoed in my mind 

in the weeks that followed. 

Months from then, they still do. 

So many hours laboriously spent 

asking Mr. God-of-the-universe

to slow down just a little bit, 

so I could decipher you. 

So I could decipher my heart.  

Then you created and destroyed me, 

exposed and protected me, 

until you couldn't understand anymore.

Your confusion has yet to change my certainty, 

but my heart can't keep waiting. 

You're still that man, 

sitting in that sixth seat, 

but I've gotten up, 

wiped my eyes and said my prayers, 

and walked away. 

Whether or not I'm worth chasing after is really up to you.                                

                                                                                                             

Season

Our wintering has begun. 


The leaves have yet to settle, 
yet the frost is in our bones. 
Calling for a hibernation 
we weren't yet prepare for. 
Is it that simple?
To sing a heart to sleep?
Or will this undefined amount of time
be torture to our souls?
Slow is this process, 
but our will is so quick. 
Will we survive this wintersleep, 
or will we never awake?
There's great healing to be had, 
so many emotions to reconcile, 
and so much, so much left to prove.
When we awake, 
who will we be?


Our wintering has begun.  

A Seemingly Perfect Day for Plath

It seems I'm having a hard time getting the inspiration to write. Words are pretty much gone. To keep myself appeased, I'll post the poetry of someone else. Sylvia Plath, someone who can say what I can't seem to right now. Enjoy. 

Denouement 


The telegram says you have gone away
And left our bankrupt circus on its own;
There is nothing more for me to say.


The maestro gives the singing birds their pay
And they buy tickets for the tropic zone;
The telegram says you have gone away.


The clever wolly dogs have had their day
They shoot the dice for one remaining bone;
There is nothing more for me to say.


The lion and the tigers turn to clay
And Jumbo sadly trumpets into stone;
The telegram says you have gone away.


The morbid cobra's wits have run astray;
He rents his poisons out by telegram;
There is nothing more for me to say.


The colored tents all topple in the bay;
The magic sawdust writes: address unknown.
The telegram says you have gone away;
There is nothing more for me to say.

                   --Sylvia Plath

Five

Dear Mr. Blue, 

I've tried writing you this 

haphazard, scatter-brained letter

for days now. 

The right words don't come, 

and though I strive to write to you 

with eloquence and grace, 

my only words are harsh and blunt. 

I long to gain that honesty 

but I can't tell what's truth anymore, 

and I want to think what I feel, 

but I don't know that I have a heart to feel with. 

All these things I wish to tell you, 

that you may or may not wish to hear,

are now lost. 

Even more painful 

than the confusing of my heart, 

is the taking of my words. 

Yours, 

Eleanor 

Someone Else's Prayer

. . . and Jesus,
how much will I forget
before I remember you?
How much longer will I run
before I chase you?
Because this apathy is losing its appeal,
and this complacency is wearing me thin,
and the things I hide in are exposing me.
I'm a fraud in this life
where I speak as if I know
but my heart doesn't know up from down.
I'm lying to you,
convincing you that everything is fine,
when you already know how far gone I am.
If you took me now,
you wouldn't recognize me, would you?
Jesus, this heart is sick of being sick
and you're the only healer.
This is a prayer for more than just redemption,
more than just revival,
more than just healing.
This is a prayer for everything you have.

Thanksgiving: Psalm 100

A psalm. For giving thanks.

 ¹ Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth.

 ² Worship the LORD with gladness;
       come before him with joyful songs.
 ³ Know that the LORD is God.
       It is he who made us, and we are his ^[a] ;
       we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.
 ⁴ Enter his gates with thanksgiving
       and his courts with praise;
       give thanks to him and praise his name.
 ⁵ For the LORD is good and his love endures forever;

his faithfulness continues through all generations.

Four

Dear Mr. Blue,

This morning I woke up
and you were here,
almost as if you never left,
and you were the same in every way.

Your eyes were drawn back
just like they've always been,
and your words were weak,
like they always will be.

I wanted to hear your words
wanted to look into those eyes,
wanted some sort of understanding
that you have yet to offer me.

This morning I woke up
with month old tears clinging to my cheeks.
I'm mourning you, Mr. Blue.
I'm mourning you.

Yours,

Eleanor

RSVP

You look like
              someone just shot your puppy,
with eyes that are sad and droopy
              and your movements that seem so pained.

You're not angry yet
              but something tells me you will be.
Sooner or later, anger just becomes easy;
              easier than holding on, easier than letting go.

Tell me what it feels like
              to douse your heart in so much emotion,
that all you can do is walk around apathetic
              because to feel would be too much for you to handle.

You know,
             for someone as smart as you seem to be
you're really thick sometimes,
             because the only one you have to blame
is yourself.
          

Mailroom

Infront of the mailboxes
we prayed for a will not our own,
and a strength in our bones,
that we would be unable to deny.

I squeezed my eyes so tight
as if God would believe me more that way,
and I wanted to hear a sincerity
like mine in your voice.

The hours I spent before an Almighty God
led up to a two-minute blurb,
then we parted ways
and I hoped for the best.

Little did I know
this two-minute appeal,
would be among the only ones
you would ever offer.

If you didn't want to pray, then why did you even bother?

Because

His eyes may be sorry

and his shame may be heavy,

but nothing changes.

Faith fell through the fingers

of nervous and broken hands.

Her heart may be empty

and her words may sound forgiving,

but nothing changes.

Hope was laid to rest

in a necropolis of dreams.

The only thing that changes

is the way we come to the Father,

with open mouths and weary eyes.

Asking the same question,

to a God who only has one answer.

"Why?" we ask.

Because. 

Three

Dear Mr. Blue,

I regret to inform you that nothing has changed.

Misused and misdirected,
Is my once single heart.
Stop all your hiding,
So I can be released from my fear.

You're running through my thoughts,
Opening all the locked doors,
Unable to stop.

Please stop. 

Yours,

Eleanor.

Two

Dear Mr. Blue,

I am aware of you
in a way you may not understand.
I hide between library stacks,
I run to empty hallways,
trying to lose you.
Or at least the feeling of you.

In a week you created me,
with a reality you carefully orchestrated,
only to pull the hypothetical plug
without warning, reason, or rhyme.
I scream "injustice!" with a tired voice,
and you sit in your chair and chuckle.

Abomination, I say.
It's the only thing I can say. . .

Yours,

Eleanor.

Hey Israel!

Hey Israel!
Your walls are crumbling,
and embers are rising,
higher than you intended.
Longer than you had hoped.

Hey Israel!
You're a whore to evil,
flirting with desires,
you were never meant to have.
You were never meant to have me.

Hey Israel!
This thing called faith
isn't something to pick up and put down
at your earliest convenience.
And neither am I.

Hey Israel!
How much longer will you live
in the sin of your youth?
With emptiness in your soul?
With no destination before you?

Maybe you deserve to be left in the desert.

Feet

I offer everything,

asking You to make nothing of me, 

so my hands can be truly empty

and my heart fully Yours. 

I see you in the darkness

like a light ever before me,

and as I lay these things at Your feet again, 

I know you have never left me. 

I stay at your feet,

right where I belong,

needing You to move. 

I know You are for me. 

I have no strength apart from you, 

No patience without you, 

No love without your approval, 

and no life without your death. 

For me, You give everything. 

For Your will, I will do the same. 

White Lies

I'm a liar of the worst variety,
deceiving with my masked eyes,
manipulating with my carefully placed words.
My mission is to fool you.

With every gaze I break,
I'm force-feeding you my apathy
so my elaborate scheme can hold some merit.
But honestly, I don't believe it myself.

The truth is in the silent prayers
that I rush up to heaven,
asking for the strength to push you away.

The truth is in the punishment
I inflict on my myself
for failing to let you go completely.

The truth is in the simple fact
that without my little white lies,
I'd have us right back where we were.

The truth is in the knowledge
that some day soon
I'll know these tactics were necessary.

I'm sorry, but we're better off this way.

Birthday

Her eyes are wax like the birthday candles
that usher her into a year of trepidation.
Only full of light when they're first struck,
and smouldering with black smoke
as soon as the snuff comes.

It's all so easy when nothing matters.

The love has drained from her hands and her feet
as if she was totally bled dry,
and in the morning she won't remember
the moments of pure serenity or
the days of triumphant victory.

It's all so easy when nothing matters.

From the pits of her stomach she yearns
for the feeling of resolve and restoration.
A soul-cry that goes unanswered
because those ears certainly don't hear,
and those eyes certainly don't see.

It's all so easy when nothing matters.

Out-of-sight-out-of-mind
is a lie we feed our fearful hearts
and she's a glutton over the deception
that she buys in excess and bulk.
Her death is knocking steadily at the door. . .

It's all so easy when nothing matters.

Wally-Mart

I am a wanderer of your paths
resting my heels in your footprints,
breathing the same pollution you did,
twenty-some-odd hours previous to now.

I had my spy snag a look at you
as you walked through the automatic doors,
so I know where you walked.
I trace your steps as I whisper your name.

I pray to a God you don't believe in
to give me the chance to catch you again,
just so my words can have ears to fall on,
just so my tears can have eyes to witness.

You carry on as if unscathed
but your silence echoes your broken pride,
laced with the shattered hopes you once had
for something you never cared enough to invest in.

The burden of reliving you burns in my bones
as the aisles become father away,
and the doors shut on my reminiscence,
reality reclaimed in the hot summer night.

It's a building with no sign,
like your heart with no love,
like my faith without compromise,
and our time with no hope.

I wanted your arms to be inviting,
but they never were, were they?

Richmond

And when it rains I hope you remember
how much I loved it,
How you would laugh at my simplicity,
and give me all your charmed words.
You meant more than nothing,
but all I could give you wasn't enough
for me to mean something.

Sometimes feet just fall this way.

When the bus passes through your town
I feel your memory in my skin,
inviting me to experience what it's like to miss you.
I miss you, when it makes the least sense.
I look for your face in windows,
scarcely aware of the fact
that I wouldn't recognize you if were right under my nose.

Sometimes feet just fall this way.

Twenty-Two

You say I've changed
I say you haven't.
Honestly, I think the latter
is more tragic.

You feel a sense of bitterness
when none exists.
And you're taken aback
by my wavering attention.

What did you expect?
After you ran me into the ground?
And what did you want from me?
When I already offered all that I had?

You can't be that oblivious, can you?

Without

Slow breaths of cold water
Dripping down the back of my throat
Filling my stomach,
overflowing into my lungs.
Only one clear thought
reaching me in the panic.

Without You, this is what I am.

Translucent skin hot in the sun
No radiance this time and
No bronze sun tan,
Just pools of cells at my feet.
I search for your face,
as I hear your voice in my ears.

"Without Me, this is your eternity."

Gehenna

Dark hands curl

around the nape of a pale neck, 

while burning eyes assess 

the damage that's been done. 

A shot temper 

on a hot night 

hidden from the view

of any kind gaze. 

Little heart beats 

conform to a slower drum, 

while big feet carry 

an infant out of the city. 

A failed attempt

to make a  payment 

to the god of Gehenna. 

Sin and sin again. 

Sacrifice the innocent, 

and see how innocent you become.

When nothing goes unnoticed, 

and your own feet lead to you hell. 

Freckles

Your hands to the sky,

you reach for the moon, 

fall short in the stars

and then throw in the towel. 

You're only as good as your next lie, 

calling the shots and taking the names, 

you love this kind of control

when you can dictate all emotions. 

As your promises fall through, 

I count my blessings, 

because being bound to your word 

would cost me my life. 

I honestly don't care enough anymore 

to give up a damn thing for you. 

Black Eyed Susan's

I pick the dead blooms, 

off of my Grandmother's black-eyes susan's, 

thinking of those words you used to say

about death and what comes next. 

There's a little bit of yellow left, 

in each expired flower, 

to remind me of what it once was. 

You used to say we never amount to anything, 

and that this life is just a waiting room

holding us to time we can't escape. 

I ignore your dribble about meaninglessness. . . 

A green grass marred with flower corpses, 

reminds me of what your hope looks like. 

You cover the light, you erase every smile. 

The next dead flower on the ground will be you. 

Bike

Yes,
I saw you.
Yes,
I know you saw me.

Yes,
I ignored your existence.
No,
I don't feel bad for doing it.

You know where you can go.

Runner

Her mother ran away.
like an ignorant child,
she stole away in the night.
On the hunt for freedom,
fear and adrenaline egging her on.

She couldn't stop the crying,
she couldn't force a smile,
and sooner or later
she was the one crying the loudest.

Her mother couldn't love her,
with her broken mind and incapable hands,
all she could do was leave.

Her baby in the crib,
the phone off the hook,
milk in the microwave,
and the door wide open.

Her mother ran
and never looked back.

Up

Pull me up, pull me up,

Because this is bottomless

and undetermined. 

I don't like surprises, 

and I don't like questions 

so the longer you leave me, the faster I fade. 

Pull me up, pull me up, 

from the ground I can't gain, 

and if you feel like being merciful, 

I could use a little compassion. 

Do you feel like loving today?

Or is it a burden you wish to cast off?

Pull me up, 

unless you plan to repeat this process, 

then in that case

don't waste your time. 

I wouldn't want to cause you to make the same mistake twice...

Red Shame

Paint brushed cheeks,
Fire-engine red,
Counting stones on the ground,
Eyes averted.
Keep it up, keep it up,
Shame never worked so well!
You wonder what's stopped you,
From trying this before?
A sense of indecency perhaps?
You tell yourself no.
Words drip from your lips,
Casting a shadow,
Crushing your victim,
Building your pride.
Keep it up, keep it up,
Glory only lasts so long,
Pride won't keep you warm at night,
And soon enough,
Even cruelty will become boring.

Strung

You play your game

from the other side of the wire

pushing every button, 

tying every heart-string into knots. 

Like a scheme you've crafted so carefully

you lure me back into the snares

knowing I'm not strong enough to deny you, 

or smart enough to let  you go. 

You leave me shamed, 

to nurse a heart that has betrayed me

once again. You show no remorse

as you look at me with eyes that seem so safe. 

We both know this won't be the last time. . . 

Sweet Dreams and See You Soon

My closing eyes are a warm hello,
Because I see you as soon as they're shut,
And I can't stop you from coming,
Not that I would try in the first place.
I miss your voice, and your stupid laugh,
Sending my heart into palpitations,
It's what you do best,
And what's more, is that you're oblivious.
I may only see you when my eyes are closed,
But as long as you're happy, it'll be enough.
I couldn't ask you for anymore.

Oak Avenue

It's raining liquid love
and pooling on the concrete
are the quizzical looks and hidden gestures,
falling from a broken sky.

The roof leaks on days like these.
Water on glass shards create a symphony,
drowning out the screaming,
covering up the cries.

A house underneath a heaven so high,
yet filled with the darkness only Hell could bring.
Even as the rain falls,
These walls will never be white again.

You couldn't wash away these stains if you tried.

You Never Learn

You never learn your lesson.
Making the same mistakes,
Taking the same missteps,
Leading you down the same paths.

You grieve once you hit the wall,
but you overlook your own folly,
that brings you there every time.

And you call yourself careful,
and you call yourself wise,
but I witness none of these things.

You're playing the same game,
spinning the same web,
trying to catch something,
only to throw it away.

You never learn your lesson.
Or maybe it's me that never learns. . .

Force-Fed

The operating table is cold,

as my head is pulled back, 

my jaw wired open, 

ready for your next move. 

You numb me of every feeling, 

so my emotions are rendered useless, 

and you begin your daunting task. 

One by one you shove the words, 

deeper down my throat, 

force-feeding the things I never said, 

until they come spilling out, 

flowing out, 

crawling out. 

And you continue despite your better judgement, 

and despite my pleading eyes, 

until you are convinced of innocence, 

and I am left with guilt that isn't mine. 

I hope you're satisfied,

because I'm not. 

Poet of the Month--June

Emily Dickinson--

 

For your musings, I have decided to include a "poet of the month" in my blogging. These featured poets will be ones that I personally adore and admire, and ones that I would highly recommend to avid poetry readers. I also ask that you would leave comments on these posts (as well as my other posts) with your thoughts on the writer, and favorite works  you may enjoy by them. I would love to see what you are reading and what you enjoy! Poetry is to be shared, for it's among the only ways to be truly honest. 

Emily Dickinson is an American poet who is known for her unconventional style and themes. She was born in 1830 and died in 1886. In her lifetime she wrote and published over 400 poems. The following is among my favorites: 

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

                         --Emily Dickinson          

Landfills

Little hearts with expiration stamps

piled up in trash cans, 

lining the streets, decorating the corners. 

Before the trash man comes to call, 

the raccoons make their rounds,

pillaging the pleasing among these organs. 

Wastefulness at its finest, 

we dump the things most precious, 

as if they were disposable. 

And we ignore our godlessness, 

for what reason?

To eradicate every threat to narcissism? 

We throw it all away, 

Erase His face, 

and paint our own over top. 

The landfills can only hold so much depravity. . . 

Impasse

Yes--

No--

I can't and I won't.
Though I my heart may say otherwise. . .
I need your voice,
Need your laugh,
But I need your happiness above all else.
As much as I care,
I won't make you smile for long,
I won't make your heart race for long,
And when the stars leave our eyes,
We'll only have our resentment to keep us warm at night.
You already hate the core of who I am,
You just don't know it yet.
And if I said yes, I know you could never love me.
To say yes, would be to break my own heart,
We would never see the light.

But. . .

Fence Hopping

The dark can hold our hopes and dreams, 

Like the world in the hands of children, 

But when the sun starts rising, 

And the phone goes dead, 

Nothing can escape the truth in the light. 

I could happily run through the fields, 

Holding your hand like it's all that I have, 

But deep in my soul I'd know that I don't belong, 

Though I may convince you otherwise, 

I am unable to lie to my own heart. 

You can blame me if it makes it easier, 

Since I have let my words flow to freely, 

Let my heart wander to long, 

And if I had have been more careful with myself, 

Then maybe I would have been more careful with you. 

You talk about winning my affections, 

As if they are to be won and owned, 

But you'll take one hard look at the state I'm in, 

And you'll see, you'll truly see, 

This heart is to wild to be won. 

So this is what it's like on the other side of the fence. . . 

Still Here

Willingness is not the issue,
it's the morals that get in the way,
stopping the blood from flowing,
stopping the heart from beating,
Because if the path was clear,
We'd be at death's door.

Your charm is not the question,
you've been able to answer for yourself,
but it's the constant failing,
and the constant falling,
That is keeping us down.
Never will we rise.

My heart could have been formed and casted
by your own two capable hands,
but the defect in my design proves to be my greatest strength,
the strength in yours is what I see as a flaw.
We are mismatched, criss-crossed, and tongue-tied,
yet we are still here. . .

Collins

Though I wish to continue my state of oblivion,
I must recognize your truth,
slipping through the cracks,
falling through the holes,
running down your face.

And even when I know I'm not at fault,
I feel responsible for your feelings,
spilling out your mouth,
escaping from your hands,
revealed without good taste.

You're obvious in the worst sort of way,
Not sensible enough to be coy or charming,
stumbling over compliments,
ignoring forced conversations,
blind to clear rejections.

I hate to stand where you have me standing now.

You First

If you forget, then I'll forget too.
But heaven forbid we're ever on the same page,
Because though your hatchet has been buried,
Mine is still lying on the ground,
broken, rusted, and worn out.

If you let go, then I'll let go too.
There's no hope in holding on,
Or any reason left for wishful thinking.
No, only the repeated sentiments remain,
But then again, maybe that's all we ever had.

If you've given up, then I guess I give up too.
Because there's no point in dragging out the torture,
But if you ever wake up thinking you've made a mistake,
And you find yourself wanting something more,
know that if you're willing, then I'm willing too.

Bathsheba

Her name is not Bathsheba,
She does not belong in your palace,
And though you'd like me to play the role of Uriah,
sent to the front lines and shoved out of the way,
I will refuse to put up and shut up.
Though her betrayal may seem evident to you,
She is not the creature you've made her to be,
no matter how much you objectify.
My silence will not be broken,
But you can count on a war, not simply a battle.
Your reign of terror has dragged on long enough,
And I don't know where you get off crowning yourself king,
But you're name is not David,
You are not getting away with what you've done.
Her name is not Bathsheba,
and neither was mine.

Smiling Eyes

I remember when we would laugh, don't you?
When keeping time seemed useless,
Because we knew there was no turning back,
Not after all of this.
There is no turning back after this.

I look at your eyes as if they owe me something.
Like a glimmer of hope, however small,
Or just a sign that you're still in there somewhere,
Because nothing is the same since you've been gone,
No, nothing is ever the same.

You can spend an eternity walking away,
But it won't change what we've said or what we've seen.
I've heard your heart break, seen your smile.
There's no ignoring what could have been,
But will we ever see it?

I remember when we would laugh, don't you?

I Am The Jury

Not only does this feel like an intentional oversight,
But the feeling of unimportance sinks into my skin.
After all the roads I've had to take,
In order to gain this minimal healing,
I thought that my efforts would be rewarded,
Rather than ignored.
Your pedestal is cracking,
Your high horse is dying,
And your innocence is in question.
These actions force me to evaluate your words,
To see where the lies were hidden,
And as for what will happen next,
The jury's still out on that one. . .

The Curtain Puller

I can't say that I've figured it out yet.
I wish I could ease your guilt, but I can't lie
You said these weeks would heal,
But I have yet to feel that knife leave my spine,
Holding on to every wasted emotion I have.
I take my place behind the curtain,
While you take center stage,
And as graceful as I'd like to be,
I feel no jealousy, just loss.
Never, will I be that star you're looking for,
Though I thought maybe this time I could shine. . .
You see my eyes averted,
You see my identity, bare and uncovered,
But it's not enough.
It's just not enough.
You see everything,
But sometimes I just wish you'd see me as beautiful.

Fool Me Twice. . .

No more walking in the moonlight,
Searching for answers in sidewalk cracks,
Because since I've had to walk alone,
Nothing is the same, nothing is right.
And certainly no more music,
With every note painting your picture,
Yet never reaching completion,
Always wrong, always missing something.
I retract my singed fingertips from the fire,
As you laugh in an attempt to mock me.
But I thought you were burnt as well?
I guess maybe I was wrong.
Or perhaps you just lied . . .
What is worse is that nothing can mar your image,
Set in my mind like a monument.
I hate to say it, but with each memory,
Your presence is being covered up,
No more moonlight, no more music,
all for my safety.
Fool me once, shame on you,
But fool me twice, shame on me,
And you can bet there's no way I'm getting burned again.

If Only You Knew

We meet once again,
Your face flushed, your hands clenched,
Unable to clearly tell me what the problem is,
Yet I've always known this would happen.
Your voice is hoarse and your eyes are red,
You're confused, and you blame it all on me.
I hear you ask "Don't you care about my pain?",
And I just think to myself "If only you knew".

We meet once again,
After you've been beaten and bruised,
Yearning to be redeemed from such abuse,
And you look to me for the umpteenth time,
Searching for the answers that I can't give you.
As I reach to take your hand, you pull away,
Saying, "You're not big enough to heal me",
And all I can say is, "If only you knew".

We meet once again,
You've come just as far as I knew you would,
Through the suffering and through the darkness,
To find me in the most perfect place.
I always knew you'd come back to me like this,
Strongly standing in My Name alone,
And you smile at me as if to say, "Father, aren't You proud?"
"My child, if only you knew".

Your Love To Fall

I scream at the sky,
to bring on the rain,
in sheets and floods,
to remind me of Your love.
Oh yes, Your rain reminds me of love.
How You fall all around,
how You cover the earth,
and how you restore creation.
Your love brings life,
to the muddiest of souls,
washing away the iniquity,
falling, falling like rain.
In all my life, in every way,
I will yearn for the clouds to cover,
And for Your love to fall.

These Days. . .

There is a dichotomy of want and will,
Festering deep in the center of my heart,
Threatening to divide and conquer.
Once upon a time these two things were in unison,
I wanted whatever was to be willed,
But now I feel as if Your will would kill me.
I fight this separation,
Knowing my desire is nothing without approval,
Because when I tolerate my own disobedience,
I only descend farther into depravity.
It is for this reason, that I bury your name,
Protect my heart and the civil war that ensues,
Because I know I cannot be trusted.
So until I can restore order to this chaos,
I will close my eyes and say one more prayer.
It's all I can seem to do these days. . .

Busted

The phone is idle,
I wonder if it's broken?
Or is it just the absence of callers,
that has deceived me once again?
It's not like I'm expecting you to call,
But I thought you'd at least make one last-ditch effort,
To try and prove me wrong.
I never thought you were such a quitter.
Though everyone else seems shocked,
I can't say that I am,
Because I know what has bought your silence.
I know your crimes, charges, convictions.
You may have said before,
That you're perfectly innocent,
But you and I both know
Silence in the best confession.

The Green Light Stop

Your hands,
are always broken, never open.
Your heart,
is always searching, always hoping.
You see,
half of the truth, only what you want to.
You feel,
it's only dead-end roads you're getting from me.
That's all you're getting from me.

You stop,
at every green light, always look twice.
You say,
it's not your fault, it's always been this way.
But I see,
all the things you hide from me,
And I feel,
it's only dead-end roads I'm getting from you.
That's all I'm getting from you. . .

May I?

May I interrupt for just one moment,
To ask where the time has gone?
Because while we've been healing,
Separate from the places we've been,
The days have rolled into months,
And the racing of my heart is telling me,
We're nearly out of time.

May I just say,
That I've tried as hard as I know how,
To remove the past from my present,
But the two seem one, against my will.
So don't call me indifferent,
And don't call me complacent,
Because if you do, then you don't know me at all.

May I say that I'm afraid?

Caged

. . . And then we sang the saddest song,
Because it seemed appropriate,
Though a longing for silence,
Was creeping up in my veins.
We've spoken enough,
We've dragged this out long enough,
And now all that is left to do,
Is to let sleeping dogs lie.
As I stop my voice,
While they continue to sing,
I feel the tired tears returning to my eyes,
Visitors I wished to never see.
Is it the loss of something sacred,
That has broken me once again?
Or is it the failure in staying strong,
That has brought me the most pain?
Questions that deserve no answers,
Since the piano plays on,
Ignoring the pleading of my weary mind.
It is well with my soul.
No. Right now, it's most certainly not.

Apologizing Again...

Call me from the other side
Of this distance we use to heal,
Just so I know that you're better off,
And then maybe I can believe we did what was best.
Your heart is swimming in the guilt,
Mine's still floating in the hope,
But as sure as the sun shines,
I see you were right all along.
I am covered by a greater love,
Held by stronger arms,
And protected by One who has died for me.
He's died for you too. . .
And as much as these words are haphazard,
Empty and full simultaneously,
They are all I have, to show you where I am.
So call me from the other side
Of this distance we use to heal,
Just so I can tell you I was wrong.
I'm sorry, and I was wrong.

Absence

Truer or more false,
We will find the correct answer,
In the months and in the miles,
Fonder or less fond,
This is the in between.

They say absence,
Makes or breaks, gives or takes,
But I just think it brings the truth.
If it isn't real, it will die,
If it is, then it can't.

The conditions seem set,
And if you stop to think of me at all,
Know that I am seeking, hoping, praying. . .
Do the work you've been called to do,
And when this is over, we will see.
Whenever this is over,
We will see.

So You Say

As the time will continue on,
You say that all of this will change. . .
Or so you say, or so you say.
And yet you give me words of hope and light,
When you've already murdered the both of these.
So to allow myself to escape,
I will turn my eyes from yours,
In order to maintain my safety.
Safety, what I must retain,
Safety, what I long to throw by the wayside.
Waiting for extraction that seems to never come. . .

Checkmate

The chess game is over,
You've won, and you're free.
And like a fair player,
Rather than a sore loser,
I will accept this defeat with grace.
You directed the game the whole time,
Using your sway to determine this outcome,
And as much as I was unsuspecting,
I have to admit that I let you win.
Now that I have shaken your hand,
To eliminate any hard feelings,
I see that I have a heavy heart,
Rising up into my throat,
And you walk away, unscathed.
Though you could have have spared me,
You did not.
Advantage was taken, and that isn't my fault.
You may be sorry, but frankly so am I.
Even though you cheated in this game,
I will swallow that heaviness.
I'll continue to remember that you know what you've done,
and you'll live with this for a long time.
Then I will be the one who has won,
And I'll be the one who is free.

To Live In Your Fields.

I dream dreams like this.
I'm so lost in the grass,
So taken in by the fields,
I don't know where I end and they begin.



I cry out to the sky,
I dance in the open space,
I am home, only in You.

I live for love like this.
To be enveloped by something bigger than myself,
To feel alive for one purpose.
Even in my struggle,
Force me to live in Your fields.
That's all I ask of You.

Illusionary Hope

In my heart there rages a sea,
Settling, only to roar the next moment,
Never does it stop, never does it stop.
Chaos swirls in the depths,
Mixed with an understanding I'll never understand.

Belly up in this aimless endeavor,
I am carried along in this tempest,
Looking for a light that never shines.
Shocked by the peace found in familiarity,
How alarming it is, when a storm becomes home.

Months upon months of floating,
Skin pale, arms weak, hope drained,
My eyes are pealed open by the illusion,
Of a light pouring from this sky.
Illusion it may be, but it's mine.

Our illusions don't always trap us,
Sometimes they set us free.

Waiting, Simply Waiting...

I'm waiting, simply waiting,
For this to become another story,
For this to become another trial,
Because it must be too good,
Too good to be real, too good to be mine.

I'm searching, simply searching,
For the will that surpasses my own,
For the strength to see this through,
Because all this time I've been buying into the lies,
So convincing and so blatant.

I'm walking, simply walking,
On the path that leads me to Your heart,
On the way to understanding my own,
Because You know me better than anyone else,
Obvious and scared, strong and passionate.

I'm resting, simply resting,
In Your work and in your ways,
In the truth and in the peace,
Because though the other foot could fall,
It wouldn't change Your love at all,
No it wouldn't change our love at all.

The Sin Offering

You say the sacrifice has been brought,
The altar prepared,
And as the burnt offering smokes it's way to heaven,
You say the Lord is pleased.
In the next breath you take it back,
To say that the Lord is disappointed,
The way this lamb was offered,
Has brought the Lord to tears.
I am reminded of the leash on my neck,
Being dragged behind you,
The lamb, for the offering.
This sin had to be atoned,
And you can say that you are now forgiven,
But I am still spent and spilled,
All over this altar wood.
You said yourself that the Lord is displeased,
I would more than agree with you there,
Because I know my God would not delight in my sacrifice,
As much as you may have.
You may have learned something from this,
But I have learned something of limitless value,
And that is that no longer will I play the lamb,
I will not remain on your altar,
I will be used for nothing,
and God may forgive you,
But I haven't yet.