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?