Thursday, December 24, 2015

The Road Home (Baptism revision 2)

Here I was baptizing myself in the throes of others’ misery, wanting nothing but to remember how it felt when the pang of life was so full it overflowed up and out each orifice. I felt the presence of gravity on tears that, for once, seemed natural. To fight the uncontrollable convulsion of face muscles, and the lack of will to direct where my identity would find itself—alive, or flat faced, dying slowly, breathing its’ last fleeting gulp of air.

I felt sick. My heart squeezed harder as I attempted to understand how I should feel about what I'd just seen. Nothing made sense—I buried myself in a book while the chatter of co-workers clamored in the background, and I suddenly felt annoyed, angry—indifferent. Nothing mattered anymore—I felt lighter, as if a piece of me had been carved out, or a burden lifted.

My actions were impulsive and the impersonal droning from phone calls were enough to make the wounds seem real. I held the façade, focusing my attention on tiny holes in the ceiling and what they meant.  One cluster looked like a cloud—I imagined myself a part of it, lost in a shroud without direction.


Despite hasty driving, the ride home was long. The rain washed through me like a feverless sickness and brake lights began to blur together. I made it just one street from home, stopped at the stop-sign, and felt that pang for once, wanting to escape—I let it.

Friday, July 10, 2015

In the Deep

I have been anesthetized by the deep,
like you, and here under a starless sky
I've found a home: a place absent of light
where I can sleep.  No doves rest on
the crest of solemn gates I seek to greet
with unquiet praise - instead the wretched
soulless wraiths have gathered round
with hauteur flavor: a fitting station
for those in limbo of His grace.

Cold as winter's breath are the hearts
of those behind these gates and their shivers
are enough to shake both worlds which men
consider to be night or day. But the words
He whispers still echo in this hallowed land—
so much, it's strange, the lending of a foreign hand.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Dreams

Dreams rarely come at night.
Fight for them in waking hours,
burden comes during light.

So sudden the mind shifts its pose,
claiming all powers—
during night the mind forgoes.

An arm around her slips;
circles, swarms, and forlorn—
aches for pressure of hips.

They'll wait for midnight hours;
for the presence of her lips.

Friday, May 15, 2015

Empty Space

Lets travel around the Sun
and the Moon and the stars,
but is that really where
you want to be, when you
find yourself on Mars.

Don't look back--there's no
going back.  You've committed,
and you're on track. Where
are you though, is it really
where you wanted to go?

So now you feel lost amongst
the empty space, how fitting,
you're familiar with this place.
It's a shame you say,
what a wasted day.