Poetry is the most natural way I find truth,
or better yet, the way truth finds me.
_edited_edited.jpg)
Just Another Day
Sometimes I'm afraid to be alone with my soul
Its demands
Its desires
Afraid they're too big
Afraid it's impossible
Afraid of failing my own soul
I'm afraid of never being known at my deepest core
But scared of it being exposed
I'm scared of my weaknesses
Yet afraid my strengths will drive others away
I'm afraid of being needy
and afraid of not needing anyone.
Some days I wonder
Is there room for me in my own world
With my contemplations
and variations
of mood and angst
joy and madness
all mingled together in a face familiar
yet inside has become a stranger.
The Place I Fight and Long to Be
​
Silence is not a nothingness
as we suppose,
but instead
some kind of mysterious fullness,
a way of containing more
than our limited words can carry.
Silence is a container of everything.
I think there's treasure
buried under all that noise.
Questions that lead
to more questions,
or stories waiting to be told,
maybe discoveries,
or inventions,
or creations.
They wait,
buried underneath the should not's
and not good enough's,
the can't do's
and be reasonable's.
Maybe the silence can unbury us
from expectation
and deafening shame,
if we endure it long enough.
Maybe the silence can rescue us
if we give it a chance.
Beyond the chatter of the bullies
is our Lover's whisper,
"Come".
Find yourself in the silence.
Fragments
Hands clenching
blood and ash
tokens
of the brutal edges
of time,
squeezing out
what remains.
How long will I
grip
the brokenness,
bleeding
on the pages
of my story?
Surrender
must work its way
through my fingers
to loosen
what was never mine.
My naked, bloodied
hands
cry HOPE!
Mundane Treasures
In the middle of the mundane
is found
something extraordinary.
You wouldn't see it
if it were surrounded
by other extraordinaries.
No. It must be nestled within
the everyday and nothing specials.
Keep watch.
For it will come and go
with the movements of time.
And when you see it
capture it in your heart and hold it close,
then let it go,
let it move with wind and time
to find another
searching
hoping
waiting
for the extraordinary
of grace
in a moment of mundane.
