A Princess Far Away: A Hopeful Valentines Day (Poem)

A Princess Far Away: A Hopeful Valentines Day (Poem)

My heart lies in the hands of a princess far from home. It was not by her choice, nor does she know, so when she breaks my heart, it is not her fault. I forced her unknowing hands, slipped my heart into her pocket.

When she breaks my heart it’s not her fault, but it doesn’t stop the breaking. She’s gentle on my heart, because she’s gracious to all, but she knows not my heart is stuffed behind her lovers, beating out of sync, but both beating for hers. She did not know that I had placed mine there years before their love would start, but it’s not her fault. She had no idea that as she was taking hold of his, and giving hers away, she pushed my heart deeper into her pocket, under all the broken parts of her, and all the dreams and forgotten thoughts.

I try to send my love in gifts. If I can’t have her, may she have her dreams, and I can only dream that she will find my heart. That he will find someone or she will find some flaw. What a selfish wish for two so struck by love, two loving hearts, with their own scars.

May they float away in peace. May separation cause them space that their hearts might dream of a different way. May their dreams be swept by different waves and may my heart return to it’s broken cage, if it be by storm or by her embrace. Would it float back home, or from the princess’ arms with a piece of hers to cherish and hold. But if they wed, if their union bonds, would my heart be freed when she takes his name. Would I find the one of whom my heart aches. I do not know what tomorrow may bring, but if it’s not my heart, would it be peace within. I know my God holds the universe and beyond. He has my heart in mind. I might not know the reason why or the person I will find, but I do know she will be worth the wait, I just hope it’s the princess from far away.

Reality and it’s Elements (Poem)

Reality and it’s Elements (Poem)

Within the whimsicality of reality, we all say we’re doing fine, with the truth wrapped behind our eyes. It’s then, stowed deep inside the chest cavities until it rots into a lump, rolling deep inside the stomach, giving off fumes of insecurity and unresolved pain and even shame. When it vents through the mouth or seeps through the porous skin, it doesn’t often produce truth, the substance it once was, but it leads to anger, violence, depression or various vices and sins. It can also just build up and produce nothing but pressure, and silence.

Within the grind of reality, we find ourselves working through the week, forgetting what we’ve even done. Forgetting how we have even gotten where we are and where the years have gone. Where the passion for the art of our work is, and how it’s moved on. We want to work in a way work is like play and in some way, makes a change. Like we’re worth the space and working for more than just a pay check.

Within the the heartbeat of reality, we long for something. A finger cannot be placed on the longings destiny or what it is we want, but we want to be free; free from the hold of our current reality. We push through and hope for the best while knowing deep within our chest, that freedom is indeed within our grasp; That there is hope to be had.

Within the core of reality, we know that we must give up our grip on looking good on the outside to hold up our pride. We have to grasp onto something bigger than the skeletons we call our homes, and let go.

In the transparency of reality, we find freedom from the shame. We find freedom from the lie that no matter how dirty we are inside, we must appear clean as wool on the outside. For the discharge of infection may be messy, but it is necessary for the healing.

To make constant a reality, transparency is a must, although it only starts the thrust toward a life of peace and joy and freedom as a life long truth. It is a battle won in a war. It is not a guarantee, but it is a victory. Regardless of our sincerity, we must press on with vigor, suit up with the armor of God. Our enemy will not relent, we must not turn our back in ignorance, but stand sure in our position, and hold firm to our convictions.

In the fullness of reality, transparency must win, hope must spark, pride must fall, and determination must last.

We are not far removed from a full and true reality. We are only as free as we allow ourselves to be.

When You Can’t Hold On (Poem)

When You Can’t Hold On (Poem)

My grip, tighter then a vice, yet it cannot hold back the drip after drip, the blood running through my fingers, down my arm and beading from my elbow. What a terrible way to go, just hoping; praying that I might stop the flow. The thoughts racing through my mind, cursing myself, knowing the consequence could have been avoided and the afflictions are rightfully mine, yet still wishing the past three minuets could have a rewind and retry; although I know myself all too well, that even if I had twelve tries, I would squander each one, just like I have this time. I’m not a just a victim, but a slave to my own vices, and this wound inside of my chest will not heal; Not because it cannot, but because addressing the scars is only an attempt to mend only the product of my mixed up and broken heart.

from one infected hand to another, this vice grip I’m holding will only stop the bleeding, while the infection seeps into every other part, and spreading even to the brain, and once it gets there, it festers. It builds up pressure like a balloon, not relenting until theres release and devastation.

By that time, the damage has been done, and I find myself again, dressing wounds with infection, reconnecting my cycle of remorse and repentance, if that word hasn’t lost its meaning yet.

I don’t know how to change what I’ve found myself in, but I know this vicious cycle isn’t it. It isn’t anxiety and fatigue, followed by temptation, selfishness and loneliness increased, to thoughts to actions. It is not that because I’ve lived and seen it and that’s not what I want to be; a fraud, a bad example, a hypocrite, or a liar; half hearted, tired, and hopeless or dictated my shame.

I know that my savior is somehow knocking on my door, and I’ve rejected his love for a counterfeit bluff. How can I come when I know what I’ve done, and even worse, weighed options, and still chose the world. All I can do is let go. All I can do is let go. Whatever that is going to mean, I’m need to let go.

Hopelessness is the Enemy of Freedom (Poem)

Hopelessness is the Enemy of Freedom (Poem)

Far more deadly than cancer and far more crippling than fear. So much more defining then routine, yet as loyal as a friend. It will not leave when asked nicely, and does not ask to come in. It enters at your own risk with no care to who it might hit.

Hopelessness can be caught like a virus, anyone can carry it. Though the side effects aren’t visible in the light, it projects it’s terrors mostly at night, after the moon has taken its place in the sky, ushering in the mood; exposing the infection through thoughts and dreams, leading most times to actions, solidifying the notion that all hope for freedom is lost.

freedom sings from the rooftops, calling, bringing notions of peace and separation from the things that so easily entangle us. The melodies are riddled with failures and victories,   tears and jubilee, longing and agony, peace and assuredly a promise of fulfillment and a crown of royalty.

This melody doesn’t sound easy, like a nursery rhyme or a song written for a kid. Freedom sounds more like Handel’s “Massiah”, intricate, full of different instraments and dynamics that ebb and flow. Most importantly, it takes precision and attention. Freedom is not sung through voices uninterested or who’s passion is gone. It is sung through lungs tired, yet willing to sing one more time, and a thousand more if means the battle will be won.

Freedom is full of truth, and is at times wonderful and sometimes grim, yet always promises joy, if not through it all, for sure by the end.

Hopelessness is a liar, and is always dim, consistent, but who wants a constant if theres nothing better, and tiredness and routine begin and becomes a trend.

I’m finding freedom as I take back hope again. It’s worth every withdrawal and longing and aching within, because it has come with joy, opportunities,  and connection. Hopelessness can’t stay, because God has given me the strength, and I’ve taken hold of freedom.

Longing for the Sea (Poem)

Longing for the Sea (Poem)

I’ve never sailed, but I’m in love with the sea. Theres something about that horizon that is so out of reach. It’s so tangible, yet so far beyond anything I could dream. I can see it, and I’ve heard her voice so sweet as it crashes in on my ears, melodies I often sing solo in my head, accompanied by the songs of the wind and birds in harmony.

I’ve felt the sands of the beach and the waves as they come in in such violent, and sometimes subtle breaths that speak. There is a calm, yet an authority in her voice that draws me back with longing.

Distance is one enemy, but in the light she sees me is far different then the beauty I see when I admire her in her entirety. I dream about the waves, her hair, and the depth, her soul, and the ever active motion, the evidence of her joy. But how does she sees me?

As an obstacle, something hindering her pattern of life, causing turbulence where it hadn’t been? As someone to toss to and fro, or does she even know the impact she causes me as I throw myself to her, and within seconds, I’m thrown face first into the ground, reality, telling me the harmony I thought we could sing were being sung in two different keys, and though I may find a way to sing in her key, right now it’s out of my range, out of timing, the wave pattern and my beginner body surfing.

Will I ever sail in time with her beat? Should I forget the dream, fall in love with the mountains or the caves or the trees? Should I try to build a boat of my own or keep imagining what it could look like, me and the sea? But I have no boat to board. Should I wait for my companion, a master builder and veteran of the sea and the wind, to build my ship, strong and faithful, sturdy and reliable, built to accompany the ocean and the breeze. I have waited and I shall continue; And ocean, no matter what you think or feel or if you even care that I’m here, I will think of you fondly and dream of setting my sails. I don’t know you, but I love you.

Who I was: Who I am. 

Who I was: Who I am. 

If I don’t act the way I say I want to be, where is my true identity? Is it the person that I am or the shadowed hope of the me I’ve only dreamed? 
The only one holding me back from being fully free is my tethered heart to the me I used to be, the carcus that’s rotten but comfortable for me to slip back in. I might be hot then cold and back again, but the difference is still Luke warm and that’s no place to be living. 

To know the truth and choose that broken shell is like watching supersize me and still buying fast food. We do it, but why when we could choose?

This fast food mind is too impatient to wait for the grace and wait for one woman and wait for an answer and waiting for more than a moment.

I want the stake, man, teach me to marinate! Teach me to sit with the cookbook and ponder it. That’s the Bible, got those tasty love recipes, but the pure heart, discipline and self control, I’ll skip to the next, or better yet, I just got a text. That sounds so much more stimulating then this! Maybe God will speak to me there, but it doesn’t matter if he does or not, at night, my mind will wander to beneath the underwear and I’ll let it lead me, though I swore I’d given that over to Jesus as well as the control, but without any self control, how do I even expect that I’ll chose to follow him when I’m alone in bed. 

Lonlieness is no excuse for compromise, but I sure let it convince me it is. 

All I know is Jesus has saved me from my sins, he loves me even in my contradictions and hard knock living. I know I’m getting to know him better, relearning how to be his friend that is willing to lay down his life for him. But what will it take for me to sink that needle of truth into my chest that it seeps through to who I am? 

I don’t know, but I will keep holding on, pushing one step closer, so that my yes is yes and no is no and freedom is full!

FULL of Emptiness (Poem)

FULL of Emptiness (Poem)

I am full, yet I am empty. It is not simply content that can fill the void inside of me, but only silence; only solitude will truly bring me into a place of fullness of joy and identity.

To say all the right things outwardly, to do all the right things publicly, it only blows up the outward appearance like a balloon. From another’s vantage point, it creates an illusion of fullness, while in reality, it only makes the emptiness that much greater.

As I sit, I saturate, and I absorb as I meditate. I am satisfied as I loosen my belt and rest, as I sease to strive. This phenomenon does not exist for irony’s sake, but for the one that did create, who does not cease in His goodness, who does not falter in any way.

We’re filled when we’re empty, we’re strong when we’re weary, we know peace in calamity, and we’re wise when we embrace simplicity.

This is true, because at the end of our abilities, we are able to embrace humility. At the end of ourselves, in the rest of our Heavenly Father, we are filled.

So I throw aside all of my distractions, sit in His presence and saturate in His goodness, meditate on His word and absorb it’s challenges and its promises that hold true. I’ll rest in his peace, even when everything around me is in peaces, and in simple faith is where my strength and confidence will stand undefeated.

I know the practicals, and I believe it in my mind, but Jesus, would you change my heart.


“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.” Romans 12:2 (ESV)