If he were gone tomorrow
Nothing is solved,
And now my fight is gone
These days have revolved
Spinning in sorrow
Past my own view.
I believe everything You said
Must in some way prove true
But somewhere along the way
I stopped running to the window to see
For all this and worse
Please forgive me.
If I ever had those watchmen,
The diligent watch they were to keep,
Now seems the time
To rouse them from their sleep.
I’m not sure what I’m doing here.
There’s no part of my life
I love to be in.
You promised so much;
Reach me again.
Wake me to joy.
I want to disappear,
To stop being aware,
To erase myself from here
I don’t want to go anywhere,
I just don’t want to be here.
Why am I?
What do I do?
There’s a kind of frequency
A vibration we are made to pulse
Hubris and striving twist the strings
Off-tune echoes the false
Leaves us on edge
Frustrated at offkey being
Losing the simplicity
Of harmony, of consonant melody,
We can inhabit through
Forgiving and being forgiven.
We play the measured notes
Of love, joy, peace,
Patience, kindness, goodness,
Faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.
Maestro of Song,
Play one more psalm with my soul.
I always love the wolves.
Not the ones who bear their shame,
But the ones draped in false wool
Who wear Your name
Not Your nature.
I am a fool.
Look for me on the lost hill again.
They are all the same person.
I don’t know how I didn’t see.
They aren’t the nicest I’ve met;
They were never nice to me.
No one spoke out.
No one stood.
No one defended;
No one advocated for my good.
No one broke the silence.
No one confessed.
No one was honest;
With what was I impressed?
How did I ever find such
Rogues and scoundrels charming?
None of them are worthy;
Shame on me for fawning
After bad human beings.
I wanted to buy dirt
But the dirt mongers bit me
Now I’m reminded
How city streets also fit me
Midnight coffee shop conversations
About love as a build, or a fall,
And the meaning of life,
Like any of us know anything at all,
Hole-in-the-wall book swaps
With dogeared paperbacks
Written by Greek philosophers
Translated by hacks,
A store for every occasion,
And parks for walks
No one knows each other’s names
Even after extended talks,
Privacy is fragile.
Space is too tight.
It takes a block party sometimes
To invoke you to invite
And I was a wildflower
Growing between sidewalk slabs
But I did just as well there
Without the personal jabs.
Where’s the benefit?
What good does buying dirt do
If the people around
Treat it better than you.
It’s astounding.
Everything he did to end me,
But the ones who hurt me the most
Were the ones I ran to for help.
I drift away, a wiser ghost;
I will never ask for help again,
And they will never feel remorse.
There is no hope for us all
If God doesn’t change our course.
It’s the first time in my life,
I have to hold the curse on my tongue.
I’m a breath away from praying every delight undone;
Holding it in poisons my lungs.
They have changed me,
And I can’t figure how
To restore what they vandalized,
Or if it’s even worth trying now,
But I am far worse for knowing them.
I feel like you wanted me to stay here;
I hope there’s freedom to leave.
But I want what You want
Even if it causes me to grieve,
To live in the wound I cannot heal.
Help me lay down my life
In the way You desire
And not destroy what remains
In my own foreign fire,
Be bigger than the boogeymen.
I never want to go through
That kind of pain again,
The corporate rejection and mockery
But if such tender humiliation
Speaks You, lead me.
If it is unnecessary,
Help me shake the dust off my feet.
I trace these letters
Sewn together
Like tiny constellations
Of ache
I break, but linger,
Longing fills the cracks.
I inhabit empty dimensions.
I can’t find my way back.
My friends became handless
As the ground disappeared
Acquaintances knew no kindness;
Those in authority jeered.
And the wounds I received
Still slowly bleed out,
And the nerves that got severed
Bring numbness in bouts.
I search for some hidden cleft
Where the pirates can’t go
Where, if their wounds end in my death,
They will never get to know,
Where I won’t see them on the hill,
Or their flag at constant mast
Where I may forget names and faces
And the love they cast
Into the cold water.
It’s no different than RealityTV.
They know the plot;
They don’t know me.
If they’ve bonded over episodes
In love with shared feeling,
Using my bricks to pave their roads
That has nothing to do with me.
And using those reactions
To feel good together
Without ever moving to action
Is no different than monsters.
It’s the same thing.
viewingcamelot 