long goodbyes

the trouble with knowing someone is the underlying fear,
of knowing you will have to say goodbye someday.
the trouble with loving someone is that one day they will be gone,
and there will only be the memory of the who and why.
and the problem of saying goodbye is that not matter how many times,
you tell your head it's not forever you cannot imagine anything else.

the trouble of suffering,
is that you cannot stop it.
the crux of pain,
is that no words, no thoughts can alleviate.

long goodbyes...
if you make it through today,
into tonight.
not sure if it's goodbye,
not sure until the last.

which way from here

i should be reading,
the narrative of the life of FD.
i'd rather that i was singing,
and strumming, and moving to the beat.
the wind's blowing outside,
so loud and whistling through the cracks.
the sun is out and bright today,
shedding light in the winter,
waking the world up again.

and it's calm.
stillness, smoothness sun-light day.

who'd have thought?
i never wanted more than to be left alone.
the only one in the family who wanted for no company,
but a dog and a cabin in the mountains for home.
no wanderlust ever grew no desire to move.
but the wind picked up, lifted up,
and blew me, flew me, moved me around the globe.
now i'm not so sure i ever landed.
now i'm not so sure where home is.

and it's calm.
for a moment; stillness, smoothness sun-light day.

and the wind's blowing again,
where does it go from here?

Starting with nothing, ending with everything

There's a "new math" a-brewing, as Andree Seu would quip.
A math which does not measure in earthly standards.
Love which does not devour and consume,
For only the Pure Love of God can both
devour and consume us in His love,
And, all the while, make us more ourselves,
More Alive than we ever were.
That idea, i confess, is not my own,
C.S.Lewis had it long before i was a
Twinkle in my father's eye.
But it still stands.
Love, the healing kind...
This new math, what does that mean?
Does it mean i give because i get?
No.
It means in losing, i will win.
In forfeiting every love and idol claim of my heart,
There will be wholeness.
St. Francis of Assisi had a pretty good
Idea of what this new math looked like:
"May I not seek to be consoled, but to console--
not so much to be loved, as to love--
not to be understood, but to understand..."
You see, you start with nothing,
But you end with everything.

From the Ground Up

the old walls which withstood a thousand winters,
could not stand to wheather another year.
those same old thorns which pained the sides,
just couldn't hide inside anymore.
in a place where nothing could grow,
where brick and mortar lie like iron on the leaves;
as the walls which withstood a thousand tear drops,
that never could drop -- stood. it simply stood.

and with the rain it brought cold,
the night swells darkness around that multiplies.
but the wall just stood to stand in the way,
never protecting never keeping a promise it laid.
a thousand more winters and it would be,
forever the same -- always the same.
where blackness consumes and concrete seeps,
below flesh, below viens into a heart which lost all feeling.

and, Oh! how You tear me.
tear me down, brick by brick,
every inch of mortar.
how You tear me,
from the ground up.
You shake my foundation,
open my eyes, and --
i am undone. i am raw.
i cannot hide.
Oh! how You tear me...
from the ground up.

[insert title here]

i wanted to sit down and write a poem,
about love, and hope and beauty.
so that's what i set my mind to.
but every word that came out,
it seems, was only full of bite and pain.
no rhymes, no meter, could bend to.
i thought about green mountains,
blue rivers that run accross deserts.
about the time i stuck french-fries up my nose.
remembered orphan's hugs and smiles.
still, no poem, no good, came out.
i tried to remember better days;
when i didn't worry so much about myself.
to a time when i didn't bother,
or stoop, to fit some sort of picture,
that society had made.
and i almost tricked myself to believe,
that too -- that i was once 'okay'.
until i ran headlong into a wall.
the wall of my own density,
the weight defying gravity,
filled with selfish intensity,
marked by human depravity.
and i didn't want to write any more,
not one more stupid poem.
about how good things'd gone today,
or about ways i'd made a change and difference.
i wanted to crawl under a rock,
to hide like a little kid.
but then i realized, that this-
predicament i find myself in,
this -- means that i already did.

What of this makes us who we are?

"Some times it's hard to tell what to keep and what to kill, what of this makes us who we are?" - Sarah Groves

Some times it's a heck of a lot easier to write poetry than to write honestly without artistic shroud to cover up those things which are inexplicably hidden from the sight of others by careful rhyme and word choice. And some times, it's just easier to say nothing at all. After all, silence is golden, right? Not really.
I've done my fair share of saying nothing. Either saying nothing, quite literally, or saying nothing even when I speak. Making nothing more than a steady stream of noise to fill a void.

But what do I keep, if you will, of the past? What is good, what is right, what should I hang on to? And what needs to die?

I'm just wondering. What of this makes me who I am?

Un-finished

i am unfinished in the Hands of a Working GOD.
there are mountains before and mountains behind, things will always change.
God is Himself unchanging.
i have not the strength to carry on nor the will to do so,
but through CHRIST, i can do all things.
i am weary of religion, and weary of carrying the weight of a world laden with hurt and bondage.
weary of hearing empty words spoken from empty mouths, with eyes so full of despair.
mourning the cry of the poor, the hungry, the forgotten in a world which has deaf ears.
we all see the need, and yet we all think of ourselves first.
i condemn no one, only what i fight in myself.
there lies within a longing to fight for a change to help others, but when you cannot even combat yourself on your own strength, what arrogance to think i can take on a world of people just like me.
God can change the world.
God can change my heart.
i trust to God the future, as i am yet just as unfinished as it.
we are unfinished works in the Hands of a Working God.
HE has never left anything unfinished, and all that He makes is good.