Pieces

Is this
All we expect to feel

Silence falls with one final stroke
The timepiece stilled as the battery dies

A broken compass now laid to rest
Mummified on the mantlepiece of memories

Is it fair to claim hurt
When I've spoken as many lies as I've heard

Sandcastles made with laughter by the seashore
Dismantled under a wave of blue strength

In the moment our created purpose ceases
Is all that is
To be seen
Death

Our legacy
What we failed to accomplish
Filled
With breath

love reign on me

For all my fighting, love wins... everytime.
For all my doubting, love wins... everytime.

Desperate to feel the smallest touch, yet knowing the ultimate answer is a choice
Desperate to feel the deepest cut, yet knowing peace is found in the silent voice

A failed connection between the heart and the head
The colorful emotion, paled and dead

The defiant "NO" behind tear stained eyes
The strong hand that gathers me, though I deny

Love so carefully crafted, there can be no duplication
Love so passionately offered, yet I seek abdication

For all my fighting
For all my doubting

Through the lying
Through the whining

Filling my pillowcase, as I inform I'll be running away
You packed a lunch and said, "have a nice day"

For all my fighting
For all my doubting

The defiant "NO" behind tear stained eyes
The strong hand that gathers, though I deny

Love reign down
Muffle these cries

Love
Reign
On
Me

Is anybody listening?

If a song is sung and no one is there to hear the sound, has it really been sung at all?

If love is found, but the only way to have it is to let it go, was is really ever love?

If dreams seek their freedom through the melody of my song, are they coming true, are they real at all?

I could go on living forever, I could free my mind, I could be a better me and discover the secret of happiness, but what does it matter if no one hears when I fall?

Is anybody listening? In the crowded city, do they hear the fighting cry? Is anybody listening?

Words trip over melodies, lives break against the shore, sparks collide creating life
I am falling, I am crying, I am desperate to know

Is anybody listening?

If a heart breaks and there is no one to mend it, was it ever broken at all?

If a sigh escapes from lips caressed with happiness, have they forsaken all?

I would go on living forever, just to free my mind, I want to be a better me and discover the secret of happiness, but what does it matter if no one hears when I fall?

Is anybody listening? In the crowded city, do they hear the fighting cry? Is anybody listening?
Words trip over melodies, lives break against the shore, bodies collide creating life
I am falling, I am crying, I am desperate to know

Is anybody listening?

winter

I feel like I'm in the land where it's always winter and never Christmas. The cold chill that tightens its vice grip, serves as a constant reminder of the brittle hope that has succumbed to a deep, frostbitten death over the past several years.

Every illusion of greatness, every vain imagination that served as a pedastal of righteousness is lost- I know very little of who I have truly been over the past decade; what is certain is I no longer desire to remember, or continue on in that shadow.

I know there has been progress, and many would reprimand me for so loudly wishing away the bad, inspite of the surmounting good, but I am tired of this mind, of the selfish living that has justified the very wrongs I have claimed to abhor.

I want to pray again and believe I mean it, I want to live right and think right, no longer a sculpture of self-doubt or self-hate. Jesus said to love your neighbor as yourself, but all that is preceeded by Loving Him, and it's hard to unconditionally love someone you've never really trusted or known.

I believe Jesus gave his life, his love, selflessly, and for all my knowledge and Bible-school training, I honestly can say I am a selfish human being, who is struggling with what His selfless love was meant to be, and what we have made it.

Degrading as it may sound in "christanese" language, believing I am a piece of dirt is the closest I have come to accepting and understanding the redeeming power of the cross.
I feel completely unfit and unqualified to lead, much less be a witness of God's love and grace, yet there are moments, glimpses of His heart for me that make me want to be that person.

I have been holding it in for so long, tightening the corset to minimize the fat and magnify the "beauty," wanting and trying to "be the better me..."
But I have failed.
I have not lost faith in God, but I am very close to losing complete faith in myself, and therefore negating the very purpose of God for me.

I am sorry.

I cannot continue on without a greater reality, and I will not keep on living behind a mask. This is my breaking point, my confusion, my audacious desperation for more in this life.
I don't know if I'm testing God, but it would be fair to say I'm testing his church, this body and fellowship of "brothers and sisters" who I am straining to recognize.
There is no expectation that many, (if any), will read this, but it is, for lack of better term...

The prodigal crying for help

What's in a Game: The continuation

I keep wondering when we'll stop pretending
Waiting for the day to breathe that deep sigh of relief
I keep wondering when we'll step out from behind the fig leaves
Hiding our shame
And stop displacing the blame

It's come the point where it has to be all or nothing
When every half truth brings me so close to justifying
Consequence and regret without a second thought

I keep wondering when we'll stop pretending
Waiting for the day to breathe that deep sigh of relief
I keep wondering when we'll step out from behind the fig leaves
Hiding our shame
And stop displacing the blame of who we are today

I started running, couldn't keep on pretending
When the moment of self-destruct was inches away
Believing I was alone as pride played a two-faced game
How was I to know you were feeling the same?

Sitting in the waiting room
For the news of our consequential doom
Unable to remake the choices of yesterday
A sad moment when all the labels fade away
We stand unoticed admidst the rubble of decay

In the end, the only thing missing was the truth
In the end, the only hope for me and you is the truth

We could just part ways
Revert back to playing games
Call it a new day to start again

A final word before you go
Without you
This flesh and blood is a heap of dry bones
We don't have to be the status quo
We could let love be our new M.O.

I've been wondering when we'll stop pretending
Waiting for the day to breathe that deep sigh of relief
To know things can change
Who we've been isn't the end of all we can be
We can choose grace and starts with the truth

Love can display honesty
No more running away from what we've pretended to be

What's in a game?

I started to write this as a song, but then it became a continuation of the war raging. When I consider the last year, I see great gain and great loss, true regret and true redemtion, concrete conviction and considerable doubt. The battle is far from over- daily I question if there will ever be a moment of complete liberty, if I will have the courage to risk my pride for the sake of a new life. I want to ask who is willing to take on the rubble and build it up again. It's like I've been hooked to an IV, constantly dripping, numbing the pain, yet displacing the strength and confidence of each whole member of my body. I am desperate to be heard, yet I have lost expectation, anticipation, of anyone taking notice. Even as I write, there is a half smile at the thought that only a few people may read this, and I very well will be one of them. Well, anyways, no sad faces. Here is the continuation, a submersion surrendered to peace enveloped by the ocean floor, hands raised in the hope of salvation, though the body may fail.

to be continued...

Confessions: Chapter 1

I wrote this a few months ago during a service at church... it is a prayer of depravity and desperation, the deep discontent of a prodigal who has been too long away from home to remember... that it was her who choose to leave and seek her own path-NL

Sing the songs, say the simple prayer
Stand and say "amen" in the conditioned air
How do i mean it from my heart
When sometimes i don't feel a thing
How intense is my "i love you"
When sacrifice is trumped by complaceny
Once my love was pure, my hopes ran high
I was unabashed to say, "you will never be denied"
Now, I stand with believers in a room resounding with praise
I stand as I always have, honoring Your name
Yet my mind wanders to the question lingering: How much longer will I trust, a God who hides his face from me?
What does it take to leave this place of pomp and circumstance
To corridors unseen, where only servants pass?
I've grown tired of waiting in the splendor of your golden halls
Give me rags for riches, let me be the least of all
I've been told I'm like a daughter, by children who do not speak
Save my heart from slaughter; refrain from flatter with words you do not mean
I will not crave your praise, when mine has been so empty
I will not ask for your embrace; I will not hide my jealousy
Here is my confession, my imperfections and vulnerability
Here is my heart, hope deferred, faith unseen

Thirst

This one has been out for a bit, but i wanted to post it on my official site.



Thirst
The illusion that slowly sets
The canopy of shade and water to cool my breath
The mirage of happy lives and a distant place
Fair skin untouched by dust and disgrace
Thirst
A deadness grows to fill the emptiness
The passionate heart dulls to dismantled unrest
Thirst
The desire to attain panics the reason that waits
While parched lips toast the vile of poison
Unaware of how deep the lie permeates
Darkest color bleeds into the cool of night
Desperation to quench impeaches the fatigue
Allowing misery to survive
In the end
The liquid, quick and cool to revive
Triumphs over the danger of death and life

some things do not change

Manipulative
Offering no nurture
Torn between love and despise
Her needs outweigh her children's
Encouragement used only to bribe
Rejection

random short stories: part 1

Sometimes I randomly write things, with no preemptive thought or motive. The ideas can be influenced by books I've recently read, or a particularly strong case of ADD that needs to be worked out. Either way, this piece is a detour of descriptions that I've recently created...


She was not a structure of steel and brick, though it had been her adamant profession for many years. He discovered not a solid, fortified structure, but instead course, packed earth, devoid of all the pleasantness of a nurtured plot of land.

Somewhere under all the thick, cumbersome layers, he was willing to believe was a reservoir rich enough to make anyone sweet, but he was stubborn as the ground she was made of, and not a single bead of sweat was worth fighting against her.

Jumping Through Hoops

It's what we do
Saying the obvious, expected things
Avoiding the common threads of conversation we are bound by

It's what we do
Jumping through hoops like trained circus animals
Performing for the audiance, as captivated by our performance
As we are by our chains

What would happen if the big top was lifted
If the greatest show on earth was interrupted by a storm of freedom
With the wild, untamed lands gaping before us

Would we trust our own instinct
Would we break the spell
Would we welcome the opportunity, the call to live in the environment we were created...

Or would we fear our own strength?

It's what we do

The voice that will not be silenced...

There's a book titled, "If you were God, would you choose you?"
I wouldn't choose me... and too often, I find it hard to believe God would either.

There is a constant stream of negative, condescending thought; a constant supply of the filth wrapped around me, of all I have not been and failed to be, of every person I have failed.
I see my lies, my sin, every word so carelessly spoken... every stripe so liberally thrashed down.

At times, the noise in my head is enough to drive... me... mad.
In these moments, I would not choose me. In these moments, I wish for the darkness to swell around, and to envelope the light that exposes my poorly constructed mask of fig leaves.

At the moment I least want to be seen, light pours through the darkness.

In the light, a voice speaks.
Not the voice of one delivering a just sentence, but the voice of a shepherd, seeking the lost lamb. I feel a heart beat within that is not my own, I gasp as my lungs burn with oxygen for the first time. I see all that I that I have been, all that I am, everything I hate and despise flash before me, churning my stomach with nauseating fear...

Until He speaks.

In His voice, I hear all that I long to be, I feel life that is full of passion and desire that has not been broken or tainted or lost to forgotten dreams. I am, in that moment, unstoppable.
My heart beats as the earth sighs, I hear the voices of children crying out for hope, for the chance to be loved as You love them. I see the captive, writhing in the darkness as the enemy preys, and a fire burns that cannot be quenched, a voice Shouts through the thunder, and I realize... I am screaming at the top of my lungs.

In this moment, I would that you choose me, that you forgive me, that you love me- not for what I want to be seen as, but uncovered, transparent, all that I am laid bare once and for all...

For the world to see.

In this moment, I can honestly say, "Here I am, send me"
Not for what I've done, but because, You... First... Loved... me

when you said forever...

Do you recall the moment that began a lifetime
The unveiling when she first stepped into view, and your heart lept?
Oh, to be that person again
Whispering, "forever with you will never be enough"
Subtley, we drift into unspoken routine
Conversation between lovers dissolves into messages we forgot to leave
When did this lingering question begin
This lurching fear that prepares for the end?
We know we don't mean it 98% of the time
Yet the passion we've begun to replace with longevity
Diminshes the illusion of living out a fairy tale dream
Real love is choosing to love, even when life provokes the "worse"
We've ignored so arrogantly
To believe it would never be us
To decieve with the promise to not become them

what is it really?

Faith.
It has been voiced by the ages, credited by countless religions as reason.
We look and it and label with liberality as the stuff of weaklings, or the bread and butter of saints.

Many claim to have it who will never truly believe, while those who remain the greatest skeptics exercise it daily under the banner of reason and philosophy.
It is stronger than any steel cord wrought by man, it is wider than the universe.

Uncounted scores have attributed it's existence as their reason to live when the warm hand of death takes hold, calling them to join the shadow.
Many definitions have been subscribed, but nothing so well defines it as a life living out its substance, a life reverberating with humilty and conviction of those things we cannot see.

breaking

So the chronicle now begins, the long descent into unknown corridors, the grappling sense we may not return. Here in the darkness, there are no pretenses to keep, no facades to maintain. We are our own worst enemy, thrust against an evil that slowly reaches his vice grip into our inner core, like a hook laden with bait, waiting for the moment we tire and turn, to yank out a thick rope of blackness that is our own deciet.

We have set out on a journey with visions of defeat and victory, with hope of finding freedom and setting the captive free, while arrogantly ignoring we ourselves remain captive.

This is our story.