A story left and told, it seems,
the season has a hold of me.
God’s plan strikes me, so odd,
and how could He? Why would He
let such a gentle soul
suffer as He’s done?
Remembrance of the Guilty Flowers.
The beauty of nature’s need
to grow to seed
and bloom brand new.
Fear is on the surface
of worry and wasted time.
The pointed finger of guilt and shame,
remind you,
you are not to blame.
Convenience Kills the need
to know the truth.
Hope is; wishing,
waiting,
anticipating,
crossing your fingers,
a feeling that lingers.
When let down,
She’s Commiserating.
A spark inside-
telling you,
“I’m along for the ride.”
And when you least expect
she’ll nudge her head through fear,
making faith quite clear
in the midst of the insincere.
I exchanged all the little things
for monstrosities.
Can you believe me when I say;
I traded in the hills for mountains,
carved my face,
and moved on with my life?
Yet I gave up the forest for the thickets
because they were familiar to me.
And in the thicket,
I found my crown
of esteem and dreams.
Queen Of The Cattails,
they say as I stand
proud in the swamp.
Where no one can see my face,
but the frogs who turn to Kings.
They believed in me.
I’m struggling to see
that the universe
is much bigger than me.
What puzzles me and I
-is myself.
Thoughts of the creator,
who was never created,
but rather existed existentially.
Beyond our beliefs,
lies a thing we could
never understand-
The reach of God’s hand,
could we all be here standing
below his fingertips?
Who knows?
My understanding is earthly,
humanitarian as I try to imagine
what that hand looks like.
Or is it a hand at all?
Is it just a wafting presence,
a glow around us?
God Created The Flies,
and the worm that ate
at Apathetic Happiness.
He was a second of shade,
which withered into Death Wishes.
So be still the anger
of misunderstandings,
and spare this great city
from spiritual darkness.
There is no Christmas in July
when it’s already August.
Rainy days surprise
-adds another wave
to an otherwise peaceful puddle.
It’s All Cuckoo Clocks
in Horror’s head.
Rainfall floods
the streets
with dread.
Fibs fill my head
as I unplug the drain,
I will not be washed
in the brain.
Now see, I know much better
than this rainy weather,
and unlike the unkind,
I can overcome
battles of the mind.
Remembrance is fondest,
when thought of you
in every great
or tiny pew.
Forever you are near
or far
so I left the door ajar.
Push it open
and walk on in
because with you
I have no sin.
Humanity would have me bow my head,
instead I set my gaze
on Heaven's Glow.
And within my memory
is what I missed
without rebirthing
an ancient past.
There’s a chain on my point of view,
contained by perspective’s shady skew.
Found peace pouring into The Puddles Of God’s Speech.
A sidewalk screaming at me,
but I can’t see ahead of me.
The rain lets up.
I ease my gaze from outdoor view
and feel the solace of the windows cue,
His speech once more.
A moment we had, rejoice and be glad-
For these are the times we know
what keep and what to throw (away).
So wisdom stings
like the tearing of butterfly wings.
Wings I cannot see beyond
the sidewalk of falls
and knee-scrape heartbreak.
Wisdom is the chance
to breathe in a cool summers breeze,
while standing up on tattered knees.
I can build
on your love.
Creator, I am,
a servant
to the debts of history.
A profound loneliness,
a new loneliness.
Uniform in mission
to build onto your love.
A reminder-
we are the people
who leave our blessings
behind us
As We Walk.
Around the corner of hope lies
a great big grand surprise.
In darkness idles
the worries inside.
Hold back
for a lack
of confidence.
An unknown treasure
of the greatest measure.
Who can see around
the corner of hope?
We are concave
sits melancholy
punishments of the wall.
“Have I done my time yet?”
“You Bet!”
But I took one for the team
or so it might seem,
and happily embrace
the hit of seeing someone happy
at my expense.