Seas to Drown In

From Your hands the water flows,
like mercy into the darkest depravity,
kindly supressing the burning of sin,
gently healing the years of suffering.
To the ground the cares will fall,
like leaves from the fall trees,
like dust in a dry summer,
displaying a peace that surpasses words.
In the dark the light will shine,
through the souls of the faithful,
trading the sorrow for redemption.
Because really, what else could be sweeter?
Not the taste of honey on a bitter tounge,
but the taste of eternity,
salvation and grace,
to taste the flavours of life unending,
like nothing in this life.
From Your hands comes your love like seas,
ready, ever ready,
for me to drown in.

Small Town Heart

One day I will live here.
Or at least somewhere that's like this.
I was never created for the bustle and the noise, I was created for the silence, and the beauty found in wilderness.
I was made for the safety found in knowing everyone's names.
I was made for serving those who walk the same streets I do, day in and day out.
The Small Town calls my name, and it's the same voice that called me to live each moment for a Great Creator.
He has created my heart to dwell in the quaint.
Call me simple if you please, but call me happy also.
Call me simple, because maybe I am.

As a Matter of Fact...

As a matter of fact, those eyes do decieve,
And rationalize, and judge, and call my bluff.
When I asked for your undivided attention,
I never wanted you to see right through me.
This wasn't part of my plan, not part of my will,
And yet the clock still passes the time.
I am trying to hold onto the wind, and it's not working,
It passes through my fingers, laughing at my feeble attempts.
How unfair it is, for you to laugh along.
Your eyes need to stop looking so innocent,
So kind, so good-intentioned, and so bewildered,
Because my gaurd falls, and then you win.
You can't keep winning,
I can't let you keep winning. . .

Shall We?

My arm is tied to a rope,
Tightly, I am secured,
You hold the other end,
And as you walk on, I drag suitably behind you.
I didn't think this was in your nature,
But maybe I read this wrong. . .
Sometimes I wonder if you've forgotten,
That I am down here attached to this rope.
My legs torn up, my wrist burnt,
I try to tell you to stop, to let me up,
But you can't hear me.
Maybe it's not even your fault,
Maybe you don't even know I'm down here,
But I am, and I think it's time this ended.
I've been dragged behind you,
Hanging in the balance,
Waiting on you to stop those feet,
Untie this rope, and pick me up.
Let's cut to the chase, shall we?

In Words Unspoken...

An old man sits in a chair by the window,
Watching the grass grow,
Watching life pass right on by.
The chair creaks, the floors moan,
Silence reigns, loneliness has already moved in.

With no hands to bring any warmth,
He sits as a stone.
He sits and watches the summer,
Unable to reach out and touch it,
Paralyzed by nothing else but his own indifference.

Once upon a time, there was hope for something more,
With silence he has killed it,
With silence he has killed himself.
Unwilling to be vulnerable, unwilling to open up,
Has left him locked up inside, unable to break out.

An old man sits in a chair by the window,
Watching the grass curl up,
Watching the snow fall.
One tear falls from his brown eyes,
One word whispered in the pain.

And to think, things could have been different. . .

Beautiful, But Not Quite

I can see from where I stand,
that your lips crave to speak the words,
that you've been holding back for so long.
Yearning to be heard,
Searching for ears to listen,
The towel has been thrown in on your hope.
A little to soon, I think.
My hands are just as cracked as yours,
But I promise they're still quick to serve. . .
That hope deserves to live in you,
Not thrown away, made impossible.
You're more than that and you know it.
It's funny how this poetry,
(meant to be poetry, at least)
turns out to be a blunt flow of emotion,
that will lead to no real change.
It's almost beautiful,
but not quite.

Now and Then...

I like to think about how back in the century when this castle was built, it was a normal building. Nothing grand, nothing fancy or special. Today we celebrate it as marvelous and fantastic. I just find that interesting...

Titleless

You asked me to stop loving you,
Because you didn't want to see the pain in my eyes,
When in reality the pain was always in them.
It's part of my genetic make-up.

You told me to help myself,
Because you can't handle my reliance on you.
You flatter yourself, because in all honesty,
I always knew you were far from a sure thing.

You're the one they laugh about at high school reunions,
Never grew up, failed at everything her hands touched,
And that's not my fault.
Not anymore.

You asked me to stop loving you,
Not because you were concerned about my pain,
But because of your concern for your own conscience.
I guess dead-beats have feelings too. . .

I forgot your name today, and I don't feel bad about it.

Rambling

Unfair, how the very same words are said,
to mean entirely different things,
and how cruel it is for you to sit there,
watching me try to figure it out.
All I ever did was make my way through,
the barricades that eventually led me here,
and all I get for my hard work
is the uncertainty I longed to be rid of.
Let me go, let me go, let me go.

Winter to Spring

It won't be long now,
Before that last sun sets,
On another lost winter,
That started with such high hopes.
It's not like we didn't try,
To pick up these pieces,
But our hands were no match for the snow and the wind.
Scattered pieces aren't nearly enough,
To complete this bigger picture,
So with the thaw comes more confusion,
When clarity and rebirth should reign.
Puddles are a reminder that the time is short,
And sooner or later the ground will be green again.
A new season comes as an old one goes,
And still, we have nothing to show for our time.
Our hands are perpetually empty.

Sparrow

It's not that his hands were too weak,
They were stronger than any I had ever seen
It was just his sunny disposition.
He was getting in the way of my cloudy existence.

Being locked in a closet for days,
Can teach you a marvelous number of things.
Such as how to do things right the next time around,
And how to see past the kindness that is used to abuse.

It's not that his voice was too loud,
In fact, he whispered when he was the most angry,
But it was the way he twisted my words.
I was destined to be a broken child.

Being free from the chains for the first time,
Is like seeing the world again after being blinded.
When his hands became too weak, and his voice too loud,
I was finally able to grow a spine.

No longer am I an enabler.
No, now I am a bird.

Little Bones

Thin skin covers little bones,
Little veins, a little heart,
And veins are filled with water,
Rushing like a river,
Dancing like a river.

Fragile hands slip and fall,
To the ground, eyes fall too,
Afraid to look into the eyes of death,
Eyes so wide,
Eyes so inviting.

Hands covered in black ink,
Washed over and over and over,
Frantic to hide, frantic to conceal,
It starts so young,
It starts and doesn't stop.

Beauty wrapped up in one body,
Destroyed in one natural motion,
Fear and shame, cancer to the heart,
We all meet the same end,
We all meet the same end.