Give

I thought I was on the path, my road tried and true, I surrendered all and sacrificed even more.
But now I find that what I left behind wasn’t what You required.

And if You ask me if I have been true what do want me to say to You?
Should I speak and run away or coming to Your side, hide in it.

Is is true? Can I give myself to You?
Do I want to? Do I have to?

I know You see what I sell of me.
Is the price enough to cover all the stuff, and if I think I’m free am I still really me?

Now I see better than before what I am truly here for.
The words you spoke over me for which you paid so dearly could free me.

I can see that what You see is not the one I see, but who You are making me is You showing Yourself more freely.

And as I see myself in You, do you see Yourself in me too?

Green

Sad flows the pristine street, mother nature fringing sweet, souls drowning in steady beat.

Glancing now a furrowed brow, lies smiling and hurried low, touching not the air we breath.

Green is good or so we hear, and broken what we hold so dear. Cracks and crimes, dollars and dimes, now we bow, sinking quietly to ground.

And yes, the sun is shining, within it’s own dirty lining, bringing lies to those who seek truth from all created speak.

Streets

I guess I loved too deeply, couldn’t help myself.

Don’t come any closer, it only hurts me more.

I gave my heart to you, my mind and spirit too,
but still you cannot see me clearer, you don’t want to.

Will I ever walk these broken streets again?

I thought you loved me more, my rosebush friend,
and if I must surrender these streets I love,
I pray you will one day remember it was you I loved.

Delicate

As you wander through the squander of a delicate mind,
do you wonder, ever wonder what it is you will find?

Through the glasses and the grasses of a delicate mind ,
in the morass and the sorrows of an intricate find,
shallow and hollow, furrow and borrow from a delicate mind.

In the narrow great tomorrow lies your wonderful find.

Kill

The gold was unlike any they had seen before.

Deep and thick and lost and sweetly familiar.

Wrapped by the warmth of the dusty air, the prancing light whispered strange things to their happy souls.

Eyes on fire, hungry for blood and flesh, exposing their certain frailty.

Thrilled alive, every breath a symphony of fear and expectation, and hope, and lust for the kill.

Innocent

Chapter 1
Air was coming. Cold and light, small and wide. She turned away, her hair closing her eyes. The sound was distant, a heartbeat closer. As the mountain turned the corner, the river whispered to the sun, the leaves trembling. The footprint pointed to a larger being, maybe a child with a child, inside. In the wind came the secret she knew, as it called her closer. Simple, she thought. But eloquent enough. Tears are seldom wrong but they washed her heart, her soul floating light and free now. Never again, she prayed, hoping the fragrance would make a way for her spirit. The child was clean. And mostly pure. Inquisitive and kind and trusting and a little unsure. His hands soft and sweet, holding gingerly, hopefully, onto truth and comfort. Gently he watched, eager to see. His joy like a healing flow, cleansing her words and caressing her scars.

Chapter 2
It is a wicked thing when trust is stolen and innocence framed. And the thief is the teacher. He wasn’t too sure, but he knew coldness had come as a spiteful friend. The blood, only a trickle on his face, became a river in his soul. Many years it carried many away and also some to safety. It still flows today, a nearly invisible sparkling true. The distance came close yet never close enough to be removed. In the tragedy a sadness gave birth to life and truth and healing, even as sometimes the shadow still hides in the light.

Chapter 3
It wasn’t easy but hiding was good. Liberating, actually. Behind the wall he could be whoever he needed to be. She knew the truth but was always afraid to share it. Alone and alone, and lonely too. In what she made she sowed her soul, the harvest coming mostly when she was gone. To defend and protect she gave all away, seeing only some of her reward and just a glimpse of the once promised peace. In the making she created something special and unique and deep and lovely. The winds of her soul sang through the fragrance, touching all who spent the courage to enter. In her eyes the universe settled calmly, mystery touched and saved. Her nails, strong like iron and still pure as gold, spoke of the love and the loss and the still hoping.

Chapter 4
Always there was the possibility of change, of transformation to life and joy. Intelligence bears many burdens, even as they whisper the world. Sweetness too can rob you. Again and again. Eyelashes are good for gain but not for shade when the shade is true. She would wander through the forest of dreams, dancing through the broken twigs and rotting leaves and unsinging birds. And yet, usually one song was often enough. Just enough to find the next path. Simple strength to cover the night once more.

Chapter 5
He couldn’t control his smile, those inquisitive eyes always asking, learning, searching for more. A lovely tapestry woven with grace, climbing the clouds and bringing joy to the skies. A mountain, the lightning, the prayers, the knife and the fork. The happy, pure love of a seeking son. The deep love of a sacrificing mother. These things even the universe cannot fully perceive or bear.

More like this ..

Leaning Now

If you abandon ship, by foot, hand and upper lip, losing sight of stubborn clip, would not the wind and waves of sea bury both you and me?

Running light and running free is not to say you run with he, who once was running too, yet running away from you.

He too stood tall on stubborn ship, setting sail with iron grip. Yet the waves are too walking away from you, wondering far from clip and strip.

Think quickly now with fear and dread, if abandoning ship is all you need. For should you step to southern shore, you may not see what came before.

The wind is strong and true I know, but light and love are stronger still. Take your place, with ready face, leaning now into loving grace.

Wrought

What things hands have wrought
of strength and life and deed and thought,
of miserly mystery sight unseen
strong and sound of king and queen.

When wonder dances all the round
and quietly sings the song unsound,
then light and truth and beauty true
surround us all with love anew.