Tuesday, September 25, 2007

A long way still...


She sits alone at the window pane,
Too far along in travels begun.
Till sun sets low where it did rise,
And mist replaces this mornings rain.
Where sighs echo the day is done,
And circles enclose the tired eyes.
One cup of coffee,
Two sets of keys,
Three armloads of books,
Four seats that are empty,
Five minute memories,
And six awkward moments, six awkward looks.
And yet you've attained the 'Dream',
As much as we can gather,
For exchanging your soul for comfortability,
Trading community for a silent scream.
When it is joy that you would rather,
More so than 'firm' stability.
The dream is not yet realized,
As we pitter on the road.
Your load it never empties,
Nor the things that can be idolized.
Keep being and seing, we can only hope,
Our work is not in vain, these old eyes will see.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Wearing yourself.

I'm not one to carry emotion on my sleve, much less in plain view. However, interestingly I long to move away from the formal and casual into the personal and raw. We text in classes, and leave a message composed of numerical sequences that appear on a screen. I'll call just to hear a voice projected through a plastic box; I'll do anything just to hear some humanity, even talking into thin air. But I shut out the world. In place of two friends walking together; they're far apart. And while I'm as thankful as the next for mass communication. I've lost touch with communal communication. Where is the humanity in that? It's a scary thought to actually live like yourself -- at least it's harder to do this than to write a paragraph summarizing who I am. It's harder for me to tell you how I feel; harder than leaving a smiley face to indicate my emotion. I lose touch with community. Where's the humanity in that?

Saturday, September 1, 2007


I'll take a picture from my window...
From the high heaven's soaring clouds,
Dripping wet with fresh Seattle rain;
To fresh potato feilds blooming radiant,
Red, white, mixed among green, spread
out among mountain range.
The voice of God speaking through the
Treacherous and beautiful mountain pass,
my own trembling voice to mix among the
Chorus of creation around me, we're not the
First to see how small we are, we won't be the last.
Your hand spread out accross a field of gold
Your voice a whisper accross the corn stalks.
Glorious sun rising high above our heads,
Sunsets reflecting Your gloy, conversation;
long and real, like taking a much needed walk.
Back among the clouds, waking from a dream,
Flying through memory, through familiarity,
Adventures, like stories; sadly have an end,
But You, O God, You have no beginning no end,
As you carry us into eternity.