How much easier it is to follow you

In grinding hurt and pain;

How much brighter and clearer the light doth shine

When night has come again;

I seek no answers except my own, and it is readily

A resounding, ‘yes!’ And ‘hurry, please,

Rescue me with all speed,’

I see the clearest surrenders from the foggiest of seas

Knowing who you are is easy, but not when to leave.

You open the door, I stand and call; invite you in, to stay, to grow.

My God and King, the light unto my path.

I will follow the lights back.

achesleep

Someone said,

“You can’t miss anyone while you’re sleeping.”

I closed my eyes. That isn’t true.

I’ve spent hundreds of years searching for you.

Missing you in valleys, in dungeons, in endless time

Every single night in the dark mazes of my mind.

I can lay me down to sleep, aye, and even dream

But missing you is a longing that pervades even sleep.

It’s nights like these that I wonder why anyone

Would ever

Love me as I am.

I cannot help but see the finite in my use; the inability in my body, the inevitable heavy leaning on another that the years will imbue upon my form.

I will not be able to care for myself alone; I will not be able to pretend to be well; I will not survive if I do not allow, or perhaps beg, others to care for me.

And I do not view others in my place as worthless … I do not think of them as lazy, or leeches, or hopeless.

But it is so difficult, reader, whoever you are, for me to put two and two together. I cannot see the value in others and also myself. Somehow i cannot allow that duality, even though it is essentially not duality at all but merely the simplicity of how intrinsic human worth must be. Either we are all of worth or none of us are – there is some old adage that goes to that effect.

But it is so hard, faceless friend, to feel the burden of a broken body already – at 21 – and to be mentally inclining myself to its downfall. Others are planning which classes to take… I am begging my corpse to continue play-acting at life long enough for me to secure some form of a future. A stable marriage, a job with powerful benefits and healthcare… a lucky windbreak to cushion my inevitable decline.

Yet I profess not only with my mouth but with this very vessel – the shattered clay I am bound to – that I am a disciple of one higher than my burdens. His insignia is emblazoned on my flesh at the front of a prowling lion… so where is that faith?

Reader, why can’t I trust my King?

I am afraid. I am tired. Am I lazy? No, not lazy… but most definitely exhausted and undisciplined.

Discipline is a terribly slippery thing to hold on to when there is no regularity in your form. Imagine your skin changes color without any notice, rhyme, or reason. Try to force yourself to match your clothing to yourself each second of each day when your skin could change shades at any moment. Are you going to change clothes every time a new color bursts forth? Are you going to allow the color to settle before trying to match it,

Only to find it has already fled and been replaced by a new tint, equally violent in its contrast? This is, in a far watered-down and gentle metaphor, the unknowing of my existence. It is the smirk the future gives me when I try to prepare for what may come.

I cannot plan far ahead, Reader. I can hardly plan my afternoons.

But I can trust. And I will seek to continue that most basic principle of my faith. If I trust, he will provide, as he always has. And I can let go and be the shapeless, colorless, undisciplined form that I am cursed to be. A thorn in my flesh will not halt my God. I am what I am but I am more importantly His.

And it is to this truth that I stubbornly cling.

Waves

I did not think I could be knocked down again

But time and again now I have found

Myself near edge of being drowned

Taught this well, re-instructed and blessed

Learn-ed by life’s patient fists.

I keep my face above the waves

Just barely, by effort of prayer and strain

Like sand through an hourglass.

Someday my buoyancy won’t last.

Carrionspeech

I simply want to peruse the view

Circle ’round the vultures, catch the pieces they strew.

A syllable here, a vowel or two,

The cannibalized chunks of the wording we do.

I’m waiting for permission, but they’re circling lower

They don’t want to share

And that’s fair

But I’m starving.

Loading…

I just want to feel again

Something other than waiting or suspense

Let me remember joy without tears

Give me the patience of love without fear

I’m full beyond empty with courage and loss

What sense does it make – Love,

heartbreak’s highest cost?

Now I wonder when I’ll feel like I’m breathing again

Is it wrong to identify the transitioning seasons

While you live them?

Will I someday stop coping and start

Existing

Again?

Peace in storms

What kind of lightness is now set into my soul

Where a store of chaos has fallen from its hole?

I crammed in every if and dream

The nightmares singing their trancelike screams…

Now, exposed, they all flood out;

A waterfall of wasted doubt.

Why die to tame the lightning and wind?

Why not instead bind the star within

I cannot control where the air-fire strikes

But my heart? It is mine.

And it shall do as I like.