Stillness After Sleep

Have you noticed the stillness?
Taking over when everyone is asleep.
Seeping in amongst the shadows.
Sometimes accompanied by a mist or fog.
It’s soft, and somehow crisp.
And I want to be absorbed in it.
Finding your soul and causing unthought thoughts.
It’s not scary, maybe a little odd.
Usually we are all asleep.
And I wonder if it’s a Ruler or a Kingdom?
Are it’s subject night lights, and bedtime stories?
I imagine it a blanket, vast, and snuggly.
Some make name it eerie,
But fear is a liar, applied to the unknown.
If we sat awhile in the thick of it, would it divulge or introduce itself?
Embrace us with its limitlessness.
Could we call it friend?
Does it guard our windowsills and underneath the bed?
Always taking duty when our pillows meet our heads?
I wait for this stillness when every moment becomes slow.
And smile at this Dreamland no one got to know.


Run to the Sun

I run to the sun

Embracing the rays into arms

My efforts negligible by the moon’s gun

Yet I have circumvented myself from harm

Gun powder unseen as the tumbled light

I crash to the earth in agony

A heartbreaking burial site

I can hear its languishing symphony.

Is it because of my feelings?

Is it because of my feelings for you, you always know what to say? Or is it because you always know what to say, I have feelings?
“I am an emotional wreck!”
You tell me, “No worries, you’re just making sure your emotions still work.”
I ask for advice, you point to Jesus.
I tell you, “I screwed up.”
You say, “Well don’t do that again.”
I tell you, “I cannot accept God’s grace.”
You say, “if you don’t accept it, you don’t get it. You had best get around to accepting his grace.”
I know you are fallible, human,
but your words, sweeten my soul.
Always encouraging, lifting me up, pushing me forward.
How could you always know what to say?
So I imagine its just infatuation.
Because thinking you are exactly what I need and cannot have is too much to accept.

Jazz Concert

Close your eyes and imagine:
Jazz is the
Bum bum bum of the bass
It’s the shrill of the horn,
and the bab bab of the bongos
its the whine of the trumpet
and the ratata of the drums
It’s the hand running down a keyboard
The dada of the guitar
The sweet hum of the saxophone
The silky deep vocalist
It’s the trombone,
the brass, and the gold
It’s the red velvet curtain
And the theatre seats
The inability of stillness
That off beat note
Sounds that get into your shoes
And build past your ears into your chest

Use You Up

When everything is tumbling,
you are my first thought.
When my heart is twisted up,
I want to pour it all out to you.
But I am afraid of using you up.
It only took 3 or 4 times before the others threw in their towel.
How many times do we have?
Abandoned before, I can already see you walk away.
How do I know you’ll stand by me when I am a wobbling mess?
I am certain if you knew,
You’d toss me aside.
And I sit here silently,
Swaddled in my blanket
Hoping it will ease my fears
And catch my tears.
Because I don’t want to use you up.

Found of Libraries

I am fond of libraries.

Rooms of stacks,

hold romance of a thousand candlelight dinners.

Reside my innermost being there.

Pursued me.

Come with me.

We will hide in a book tower,

breathing paper and ink.

Sprawled books beneath chins.

Pages flip past worlds, stars, and galaxies.

Giggling new stories, new thoughts.

Her own worst enemy

She build others up
Because she knows
Being torn down
Her own worst enemy inside
She pours out
Because she knows
Her inner voice pushes them away
She gives everything she has
Because she knows
Having nothing
An isolation created within
She speaks life
Because she knows
The agony of watching death before her
Her soul withers
She loves deeper still
Because she knows
Pain of the unloved
Who could ever want her?
And yet she continues