Lord, I am a mime, pounding
On the invisible walls of my
Own life, suffocating in a box
I didn’t know surrounded me—
Where is the key? Is there a
Loose brick, a fissure in the
Dam? The silence is deafening,
And water begins to pool at
My feet, slowly rising—I call
For help, but my words are
Warbled, incoherent and lost
As they richoet back to me.
The mortar scrapes my fists,
Making the air ******, and I
Call out to you, Lord; I ask
For you to be my home, my
Foundation, not this craggly
Prison I incased myself in—
So many years of building
The walls of distrust as the
Water of anxiety mills about
Me—Lord, let me breathe, fill
My lungs with your spirit and
The love I have been avoiding.

All we’re living for. . .
With time, does that
Statement degrade?
Do we tweak it, here 

And there, justifying
The smallest changes?
Like an engine, pulled
Apart, piece by piece,
And re-assembled with
Shiny, new parts that
Have never been tested,
Do we remember the
Original, or have we
Burned the blueprints?
“I choose Jesus.” He
Thinks that the cross
Below his collarbone
Is enough, that it saves
All of the choices he
Never brings to God--
Is it weighing on him?
He uses scripture as a
Means to his own end,
But Jesus knows his
Heart, and He does not
Want a necklace--He
Wants well-intentioned
Thoughts & choked
Words that he cannot
Speak aloud to anyone
Else—He wants him
To see that his back is
Turned, that his hand is
******, & that he faints
To ask what his true
Motivations are. A
Cross necklace does
Not disguise a failing
Heart--and God only
Asks what it is he's
Living & fighting for?

Raining questions and

An umbrella of answers--

They roll and drip

Down the sloped sides,

Reaching one conclusion

As they are absorbed

Into the ground.

Jesus Christ does not

Dispel the questions;

He encourages them

And answers in gentle

Tones, unaltered by the

Torrential downpours.

There was a transience to the laughs,
A way it all fell out of focus--
Bright for an instant, only to diminish
Into something that never existed.

Slick-tongued quips and smiles
Enticed by a topical instance,
How do I feel knowing
That nothing is lasting?

An umbrella of headphones,
And an open bible--
The world is never constant,
But Jesus is the exception.

it was a sweet downpour,
sprinkling on her nose
Like freckles. 


there was no one to watch,
no one to please,

Only Jesus.

the flowers lollygagged
and her skirt swished,
She laughed.

the sound flooded the wind,
her palms facing up,
Nose crinkled.

she was a little girl again,
yellow wellingtons in puddles,
Without a shadow.

it was a sweet downpour,
she spun and spun,
In nostalgia.