You’ll Understand When You’re Older

When I’m bigger
I might figure
Why you let me down

You say, “Wait.”
Fate will rend the hate
And love will leave me found

You say, “This was my best.”
That life is just a test
And if I walk away, I fail

But you’re the one who lost
Made your choice at such a cost
To our history the final nail

Now that I am grown
All I see you’ve sown
Is bitter beds of rot

And all I can do
Is move to land that’s new
Find a better lot

You can try to save what’s left
Fill the gaping cleft
Writhe in the ash and black

Mourn with the bereft
Let death have its theft
But as for me I won’t look back

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gods become death

Worlds to disaster
Student surpasses master
When little gods die


Let me die a little way (every day)
So that I may be born in you
If idols die and God survives
Then all that is left is true

Sloppy Soup

They say a short memory is a blessing.

I feel blessed and cursed to have such a long, vivid memory. I always wanted to just keep the good and forget the bad.

But the brain is hot pot of chemicals and ingredients all sloshing together. All the memories, good and bad, bitter and sweet, cooking down and bubbling up to one tasty, rich soup of love.

That doesn’t mean you won’t have a messy kitchen from time to time. Enter at your own risk. The recipes are lessons to keep and learn and develop.

Splattered or not, enjoy your soup. Soup is medicine.

Dark Hours

I feel closest to God in those dark hours that bring sleep or illness.
Confined to bed.
Dark hours of emotion, depression, irrational thought.
Confined to spirit.
Void of the physical.
Confined to thoughts and dreams.

I feel closest because I must answer the questions:
What do you believe?
Where is your heart?
…courage?
…resolve?
What is real?
What is true?

Simplest, inarguable answer:
I trust you, God.
I will listen to your truth.

The Lonely Bird

When I was lonely and missing my family while I was overseas, I read this verse from the NASB.

Psalm 102:7

I lie awake,
I have become like a lonely bird on a housetop.

When you flap your feathers about, you risk being alone in the sky.
So we must call out to God. And wait upon his eagle wings.

sunset on carmel

Whispered Words

My prayers are but whispered words
From a yearning, desperate, fallible heart.

Mist between tall hills.
Breath between pangs.

Yet any power they possess
Does not rest on my small human capacity.

They are gathered by an eternal hand
That has raised mountains and stirred oceans.

Burn it

Some days
I wish the past

Was a shed out back
Falling-down shabby shack
Barn-like amnesiac
Full-blown 4-alarm panic attack

Packed full of every bad time.

I’d burn it down
Raze it to the ground
Not an ash to be found
My mind unbound

Flames call to this firebrand
Set matches to this misused land
Jump on chance and take your stand
But. On the other hand…

You’d burn with it
Forget it

King of the Hill

Crispy Christmas Moon,
Crowning above this crowd of clouds,
Light our winter solstice play
With blinding joy the coldness shrouds

Silvery slivers of sled rail trails
The last of the riders wander home
I alone on this silent hill enthroned
Witness your brilliant-white soft dome

Bright as day
So glad you chose to come this way
I pray you’ll stay
But dream of you when we turn gray