Thursday, May 31, 2012


Count the cost, they say.

And I sit in my waiting,
yet to find a relinquishment of my own...

yet to bear witness to any forfeiture of mine
that wears its bravery proudly.

At least not in light of this.

Lonely is the vessel, in an estranged sea.
Bartering with currents,
Contending with waves...

...a campaign against wind
and odds
for the sincerity of it's proud hull.

But lonely is the vessel,
proceeding against a trained sea.
Hoping against hope to find one of its own kind.

A voice in the wilderness,
orphaned in its cause.

Count the cost, they say?

At what return...?

Lonely is the vessel,
and cost is inherent within the wound.

Deserted in the cost
of counting all else as loss..

..of calling the bluff,
and heralding an epic

that nurtures no counting at all.

And I sit in my waiting...

yet to bear witness to any forfeiture of mine
that wears its bravery proudly.

At least not in light of this.

Monday, May 21, 2012


Residual ache,
and the familiar presence of subsequent numbness.

I am a fortress...
with paper walls and toy cannons.

A battlement forged in the sweat of my own effort.

Man-made and proportionately immortal.

Thick skin and practiced expressions.

No one will know I hurt if I can help it.
No one.

But therein lies the problem with paper...
tearing beneath pressure,
moving with the wind.

So blow me down.

Watch imperial towers fall in Your wake.
Leave me in ruin,

in numbness.

In the presence of residual ache.

For I am a fortress,
cannons firing blanks.

A battlement forged of my good effort,
that can no longer fight for itself.

Save me.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

permissible. [forbetterorworse]

These doldrums have become a dull drum..

predictable repetition of such numbingly wearisome rhythm.

My heart beats far too extravagantly,
far too alive,
to find its rest in this pattern.

And so, stand I will not...
wait expectantly I will not.

Tarrying has lost its luster in the blinding light of promise.
Your promise.

I have lost my interest in the decoration of performance.
Her metals are not rare.

Rusted and conventional,
they leak they're poison through the flesh of my chest...

entering the bloodstream, and corrupting the heart.

I will not give up my breath to self-made and tepid,
if that's what is to give You glory.

It's all You
or it's all me.

or nothing.

You, who orchestrates the rhythm of this heart.

Write your resonant symphony,
or will me your wand.

Only one of us can conduct,
and the zenith of time is upon us.

If You are who I hope,
breathe life into wearied and numb...
be the heart-bending melody and sweeping landscape.

Do, so I will not.

These doldrums are not my home,
so make for me a land called pleasure...

lest I am left to my own limbs and devices,
to fulfill promises my heart did not dare to utter.

All, or nothing.

Beneficial is the chief responsibility and,
I want to believe,
the sole longing of the benefactor.

For better or worse.

Saturday, May 5, 2012


What admirable will;
pure as the driven snow,
blind as the night is dark.

Exalt yourself follower...

believe in your shallow moment and waning pride
that you have done well.

Build your house on good effort and righteous performance...

Live in your facade, knowing all too deeply
that you haven't ever known.

I've traveled the four winds to discover the discipline of men
is often no more than the social security of the flesh.

Taking parts and pieces here and there...
promising a payout one day for faithfulness.

And so, I am found, guilty with the rest.

Creating a God who is good
somewhere in the mural of my duly rewarded accomplishments;

Making for myself a God I can see,
and bowing at its feet...
all so I can be certain he does, and is, exactly as I need.

But no less, and certainly no more.

Today I forfeit my "faith".