SOME may have blamed you that you took away
The verses that could move them on the day
When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind
With lightning, you went from me, and I could find
Nothing to make a song about but kings,
Helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things
That were like memories of you -- but now
We'll out, for the world lives as long ago;
And while we're in our laughing, weeping fit,
Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit.
But, dear, cling close to me; since you were gone,
My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone.
Where's my priest?
When I was little I had it all planned out.
"In the name of the father and of the son and of the holy spirit, Amen.
It has been six months since my last confession and these are my sins."
I fought with my family.
And I lied.
That is what I said for seven years.
I loved to throw a wrench in the machine.
When I was fourteen I added in a little tid bit to my routine.
"I am gay".
It was the longest pause I had ever heard.
And then it went completely ignored.
How rude of me to try and provoke you, father.
While walking on the paths of past and
While wading through the rivers of lost dreams,
One will realize that life is temporary.
Forgiveness comes hand-in-hand with misery and
Pain comes hand-in-hand with love.
Life is complicated and so are we.
The trail side weeds caress our ankles like the waves kiss the shore after a storm.
- the storm is our mind & we are the weeds -
Reconciliation is another word for salvation;
For life is temporary and salvation is the answer,
to the questions we will forever ask,
as we walk on unexplored trails and wade through glorious seas.
He and I talked about our kids and wives
As we heard the hockey players now and again
On the screen. We drank beer till about ten.
The fine grain of the bar counter, bartender's smile,
The warm waves of tinkling glasses, laughter,
A fun story of what two young men were after,
The smoke of a pipe as though absorbed in thought,
The soft endearing light spread out like the look
Of a long-returned-to and cherished book,
The window testifying to snow's sweep and pride -
All these bore along the masts of our minds.
Our friendship, too, puffed and flapped our white
Gladness at every sound and sight.
That's how it felt - at first. Yet the words veered off
Into politics and religion; unease,
Discomfort, and the occasional cough,
The frown, grew into being offended.
Mutual anger for a week
Savored its winning streak.
Yet we came to our senses - and all was mended.
In the bar I thought I was right.
I thought he was being perverse, uncouth,
A stubborn and angry offender of truth.
How silly that was... Truth can't be offended.
Truth is truth: it knows no offense or grief,
Is infinitely patient, prone to smile silently, to love.
The one offended is one with a strong belief,
A belief that hasn't so much to do with truth
As it does with lending support to frightened youth.
I had much to learn. I approached my friend,
A gentle listening unfolding wings of light,
And I thought to myself: If I had to choose,
I would choose being kind over being right.
"The scent of you lingers on me now"
My couch had you and me all over it
Now it's bare wishing you back
Not to lay, just to sit
No, no, I really enjoyed
Laying on top of you
and then you laying on top of me
Doing things we probably shouldn't do...
It didn't matter that we spent 7 plus hours together
I didn't count our kisses
There were too many, and I didn't bother either
Counting the minutes.
"Are you okay"
Yes I'm fine...
Just I didn't know
How insignificant a role was played by time.
Two months in three days,
No I'm not regrettin'.
Whether you say something or not,
I know you're not forgettin'.
Your phone password,
The background as well
I saw it despite
You were trying to hide it, I could tell.
We held hands and kissed
and kissed and kissed
We joked and talked
and shared secrets.
We mimicked we laughed
We made a memory
I hope it went as well to you
As it did to me.
There's a little sickness in my stomach,
But, it's been there for a while.
I'll just try to be nice with my feelings
And make my head and heart reconcile.
Look at yourself
Blackened with a sour demeanor
Rip the top off
Take a look inside
An endless carousel
See the stars
And be thrown to the next page
Never to come back again
The stories for the next chapter
Clenching to previous excursions
Remnants, recollections of once new beginnings
Once you start you can’t stop
Can turn and have second thoughts
Once you’re out
Falling to pieces
A mental spasm
A lapse, relapse
Push them away
They speak to loud and bright
A half baked scheme
It’s something to pass the time
Hedges of red
Busted fence posts
To the roots
Vibrations to my brain
Pedal till they bleed
Bleed dry to the bone
Till the bone breaks
And the pain grapples me into submission
We ignore the fruits in front
Of us for the mirages
We pretend are real
Putting In hope and taking out lies
Riding the ignorant air of pride
Crawl in desperation to continue
It wouldn’t lie
Stick to the plan
Raise the voice
So they hear and believe
We won’t stop till it’s found
They won’t stop till I’m in the ground
Buried, out to pasture
Fresh fertilizer here
I hear his deceit meshed
Deeply in his voice
Yet I fool myself to
Believe due to my denial of doubts
It won’t let me continue
Smile for no reason
When I think about it
Don’t utter another word
The grass is dead on both sides
So let’s make them equally green
So plant the seed
Pack a lunch
As we walk we remember
The lesson we were taught to never
I lost myself in boredom
Lost myself in the bitter and sour patches of life
Ripping myself free from the death grip of the vines that hold me down
I can see the sun shining through the leaves and thorns that cover my eyes
My sad, torn aching flesh screams out as the rain softly falls on it
Stinging the gaping open wounds as I search for reconciliation
As I slowly stumble back into my reality
Rediscovering my inspiration, surprise and happiness
I have come to my crossroads once again
Not looking back, I proceed on my path of hope
Living like I am dying and regretting nothing I have done
I may be scarred from my battles but that does not mean I have lost my virtue
© Khrystina-Lee 2010
the LORD & I have been arguing for days
over four small words:
[thy will be done.]
let this be known:
never is there a bigger sacrifice
than compromising the cloth that has woven your soul,
choosing to burn its textile
rather than cling to its strong stitchings & worn-in, familiar pattern,
leaving you in nothing but incinerated rags.
I plea for maintained remains of
this combusted fallacy of joy,
whilst He responds with simply
[I am making all things new.]
please hear this:
there is truly nothing that can mend you here,
nothing that can weave you together &
save your heart from being torn
as a love letter ripped into shreds of its possibilities,
leaving you with nothing but
my past is aching to become my present,
& my perceived future has begun to rewind.
my place in this world has become null&void;
without the hope I once held close.
for what happens to a princess
when her earthly prince continues to commit slow suicide?
[peace, My child.]
I can hear my bones screaming to be heard,
as songs on a broken record,
stuck on repeating the same old refrain:
please please please please please…
[on earth as it is in Heaven.]
when your mind cannot stop running even whilst you sleep.
when your heart trembles & begs to stay alive.
[plans to prosper you, not harm you;
plans for hope & a future.]
I’m strung out on all these things that keep me sane
while my mind feels like its going through
withdrawals of the Holy Spirit—
WHERE ARE YOU, GOD
& WHY IS THIS YOUR PLAN?
YOU DO NOT LOVE ME AS YOU ONCE DID.
[those who hope in the LORD renew their strength.]
laying on my bedroom floor
with hymns pouring from my mouth
like tongues of fire & bile
I feel farther from glory
than I ever have.
[He restores my soul.]
as Christ once begged of you
Take This Cup,
for an exodus from this body that is
full of intoxication
[until the very end of the age.]
LET MY SPIRIT RISE FROM THE ASHES
& BE HEALED OF THIS HORROR.
Pursue love, and earnestly desire the spiritual gifts...
For one who speaks in a tongues speaks not to men
but to God;
for no one understands him,
but he utters mysteries in the Spirit.