a sonnet for my savior

if  you're  good  at  something  never  do  it  for  free
death   was    the    price   he   paid   to   save    me
and  for  what?  so  i  could flounder around  aimlessly?
prison   door   stands   open   but  i  ignore  the   key
the  punishment  is  just- i  don't  deserve   liberation
the   same   is  true  of   every   tongue   and   nation
every   mistake  a   product   of   a   doomed   creation
we  did  this  to  ourselves; there's   no  justification
Jesus broke  our chains  yet we  choose to live  deceived
a vicious cycle of lies broken the moment we're  redeemed
believe  he  died  for you;  you don't  have to be  alone
all of this is possible because  God sits on  the  throne
live your life sanctified, don't let his death be in vain
and be thankful that you weren't the Lamb that was  slain

a dance with the great I Am

a gentleman implores, "may I have this dance?"
into his eyes i assent entranced
swept off my feet ensnared by a glance

he spins me round and round
whispers in my ear, "don't look down"
we ascend farther and farther from the ground

his eyes are the windows to his soul
all of creation an encapsuled mold
of every tale both new and old

the universe is his perfect design
every sound and color a product of his mind
praise and adoration are mine

he dips me low and raises me high
the earth gets smaller as we climb
higher and higher into new life

bowing before my bridegroom king
i devote my abundant life to raising
a love divine, not one comparing

Reduction Destruction

Too often beauty is ignored and worth is denied

I am a diamond ring in a dingy dollar store

Chubby butterfingers try me on for size

Cheap plastic jewelry just won’t cut it anymore

Heart beats inside my chest like a toddler ready to purge dinner’s veggies

Chew me up and spit me out like plump, undesirable beets

How many licks to the center of the eye candy lollipop?

Until I’m just the worthless stick discarded in the street?

I’m sick at the though of banging anyone

because ordinarily that means pulling your trigger selfishly

over and over and over and over

You get what you want but throw away the hollow evidence

Using a body bag would be too dignified

The victim would first have to be recognized as human.

Like hard candy licked inside out

Like a piece of juiced fruit

You get your taste but what about the bruised peels that

pave your mushy path to satisfaction?

It’s temporary and insubstantial because once every corpse rots under your feet

you’ll sink

Drowning in a sea of lifeless, forgotten faces

Recognition drown out by your blood rushing through your ears

Now you hear nothing but the loneliest of silences-

the emptiness that comes from realizing you were wrong.

The reality of what you’ve done hits you but it’s too late

You’re knee deep ironically in your self destruction

And just like no one was there to rescue your victims from you

There’s no one around to save you.

This is Cynicism This is Life

One thing everyone knows but refuses to admit is that no one really knows anything. We’re all just winging it and we all start off the same. As children, we don’t know any better than our curiosity and contentment. Muddy and completely mad, we’re unreserved and uninhibited. The life of a child is messy but simpler than hopscotch. It’s concrete, scraped knees, a swiftly slapped Band-Aid, and a kiss from a parent. Adult life is more complex. It’s is a series of math problems that get more complicated with age and can’t be solved with a calculator or a Band-Aid. If only parents had parents to kiss their boo-boos all better. It takes a village to raise a child because that is way too much responsibility to place on any underqualified duo. We’re all underqualified- still children, no matter how long we’ve been wandering the Earth. Gravity seems to get heavier and every year our skin sags closer to the ground where most of us are buried. Wrinkles are a poor disguise for the child-like, wide-eyed, fearful ignorance that inhabits most people until they die. It’s a miracle we’ve survived, and preposterous to think there’s a God in heaven who let this freak show play on for so long without intervention. He did intervene. His Son’s name is Jesus Christ the Messiah, but the majority of the people he was sent to save reduce him to a mockery. The human brain isn’t capable of comprehending vastness. It’s much easier to stuff what we can of a universe into a box than to accept our significantly smaller size and inability to understand. Sometimes I wish it were only a dream. I wish for once to wake up without a sense of dread latching on and sucking the life out of me like a leech. I didn’t ask for this. We didn’t ask for anything, and yet here is this enormous gift called life sitting in humanity’s collective lap. The only sense I can make of it is that God knows something we don’t, and wants us to experience something we’re not capable of by ourselves. There is beauty and there is love out there for anyone with enough faith and hope to search for it.

Reflective Dystopia

Downward I spiral into nothing; a darkness so abysmal my very existence threatens to cease. I descend for what seems like an eternity- long enough for me to ponder this fate. I have fallen for so long I have forgotten what it feels like to stand and to breathe. A whisper creeps into my consciousness, “it’s only a dream.” I freeze, suspended in recollection. Prying my eyes open, I snap back into reality. Rising from my slumber, I am astounded by the brilliance of the utopia before my bewildered gaze. In front of me stands a girl. Her eyes instantly catch my attention. Storms rage around her pupils, betraying her smile. Her glare pierces my soul, and immediately I look away, to survey my surroundings. A wall that spans as far as the east is from the west separates me from the girl. Behind her is the healthiest, most vibrant pasture which my eyes have ever had the pleasure to feast. I remember the dismal state of the nightmare from which I awoke, and am content to never glance down or behind me. The girl looks at me with a contagious longing that fills me with the desire to surmount this obstruction that disconnects us. My body is initially oblivious to the enormity of the task. However, many moons pass and diligent blows deteriorate into sporadic banging. Just as I begin to lose hope, cracks appear. I beat with renewed strength and within moments the wall shatters. Glass rains for miles. Suddenly, I am alone and shaded by a lifeless gray. Behind the wall is nothing. No trace of the utopia, or the girl I had fought so hard to reach. Defeated, I peer down at one of the glass fragments at my feet, and discover a dumbfounded face that stares back at me with familiar storm gray eyes.

“Tree Hugger”

Tree Hugger
by Kimya Dawson
(Performed by Antsy Pants)

The flower said, "I wish I was a tree"
The tree said, "I wish I could be
A different kind of tree"
The cat wished that it was a bee
The turtle wished that it could fly
Really high into the sky
Over rooftops and then dive
Deep into the sea

And in the sea there is a fish
A fish that has a secret wish
A wish to be a big cactus
With a pink flower on it
And in the sea there is a fish
A fish that has a secret wish
A wish to be a big cactus
With a pink flower on it

And the flower
Would be its offering
Of love to the desert
And the desert
So dry and lonely
That the creatures all
Appreciate the effort

Et le jackalope a dit
"Je voudrais être un yeti
Pour voler dans la nuit
Et m'en aller loin d'ici"
Mais le yeti a dit
"Je voudrais être un monstre marin 
Pour pouvoir rentrer dans la mer
De tous les requins"

And the rattlesnake said
"I wish I had hands so
I could hug you like a man"
And then the cactus said
"Don't you understand
My skin is covered with sharp spikes
That'll stab you like a thousand knives.
A hug would be nice
But hug my flower with your eyes"


*A note for international readers: Goodwill is an American thrift store that sells “gently used merchandise” such as clothing, electronics, furniture and various knick-knacks. It is known for its large, packed floor space and plethora of useless doodads.*

         Perched in solitude atop a rickety rocking chair is an unusually wise and expertly aged understanding. It sits among discarded holiday decorations and broken beach toys to watch the treasured past become prospective man’s dusty décor like a fine wine in an old corner store ice box. Technicolor and rust colored relics and decrepit scraps with no color at all lie- not forgotten but no longer cherished- on the shelves like dead things in wait to be buried. Shovels are without their pails. Santas are without their ruby red coats and Mrs. Claus is nowhere to be seen. Nothing matches and yet one thing remains; everything that once meant something has now lost its worth.  The unseen loneliness of the past clings closer than the cobwebs, hides in all the corners, creeps down the aisles and curls around every customer like an ankle-biter soliciting for attention. It demands to be felt. A caveat for the dangers of commercialism and materialism: nothing lasts forever.

The Fountain of Youth

A    defiant    soul    that    never     ages
Despite     the       body's        negligence
A    meticulous    hand    turns   the   pages
Your   life  is   laid   out    in   reverence

The   secret   you   discovered   years    ago
A   growing   body   and   a   stagnant   soul
A   seemingly   flawless   design   and   mold
But  what   happens   when   you   grow   old?

You  turn  the  page  to  your  final  chapter
Your  perfect   plan   is   now   a   disaster
Finding    no     words,    only   a    mirror
Your   wrinkled   eyes   betray   your    fear

In  that   mirror   your   soul   is   trapped
You're punished for trying to live in the past

A Rose & a Bee

Potential rosebuds versus deficient snow

Honey saturates my river of tears

Sunlight plus raindrops equals growth

With my eyes a bee interferes

Through viscous amber I experience the sky

Thank you Mr. Bee you saved my life

Blue melts into rainbows when I cry

Then the warmth of the sun dries my eyes

The ground is now warm and bursting with health

However, bees can’t fly in storms

Buzzing sweetly kisses my ears farewell

He sacrificed himself so I could bloom

“Such Great Heights”

Such Great Heights
by The Postal Service

I am thinking it's a sign
That the freckles in our eyes
Are mirror images and when
We kiss they're perfectly aligned

And I have to speculate
That God himself did make
Us into corresponding shapes
Like puzzle pieces from the clay

And true, it may seem like a stretch,
But its thoughts like this that catch
My troubled head when you're away
When I am missing you to death

When you are out there on the road
For several weeks of shows
And when you scan the radio,
I hope this song will guide you home

They will see us waving from such great heights,
"Come down now," they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
"Come down now," but we'll stay

I tried my best to leave
This all on your machine
But the persistent beat it sounded thin
Upon listening

And that frankly will not fly.
You will hear the shrillest highs
And lowest lows with the windows down
When this is guiding you home

They will see us waving from such great heights,
"Come down now," they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
"Come down now," but we'll stay