You were a handful of cherries,
A summertime kiss,
A savored mouthful
Some bitter, some sweet.
The colors shift from deep to bright
Unpredictable. Temporary. Ever-changing.
A stem to be tied
A tantalizing tongue-twister
A point proven and forgotten.
Fun for a moment,
And then a moment passed.
And yet every cherry has a pit
And, sooner or later,
each handful ends.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 3:28 AM UTC
A bead of sweat trickles down my neck as I shift anxiously,
left foot, right foot, a little hop.
Two cars, barely intertwined, stall my walk home.
Five-years-old and impatient, I wait for my mom
across the street, getting the unofficial accident report
from the crossing guard.
The high wall on our right conveniently blocks out the sun,
My friends and I giggle at our independence
as we walk to Girl Scout Troop 462’s meeting.
In sixth grade we think we know how to check our corners
How to be cautious and how to be safe,
but we know we still have to wait for the crossing guard.
The sun glares down as I squint across the street,
just free of sixth period, I've started my walk home,
But the boy from science class is goofing off with his friend.
He doesn’t notice me and I try not to stare,
I want his attention but four lanes separate us
thanks to the crossing guard.
Sophomore year means I walk home with a boy holding my books,
and I hold his hand even though it’s hot out.
Those four lanes mean nothing
to me and that boy from science class.
I barely notice as I’m motioned to stop at the curb,
and the crossing guard holds up her sign.
Tears, not sweat, wet my face as junior year ends.
I drag my feet on the walk home, and carry my own books.
I am not paying attention to curbs or crosswalks,
but when I reach her street,
she gives me a smile and motions for me to wait,
And the crossing guard helps me on my way back home.
We round the corner the last week of August
in the family car packed full with my college necessities.
I wait anxiously for the light to turn green,
So I can begin life in “the real world,” be independent.
In my haste and excitement,
I don’t notice the crossing guard.
I don’t walk home anymore.
With adulthood comes a car and an insurance bill,
and the sweat and tears come for different reasons.
One day she was gone and never came back.
And when she died I had to remember
to check my own corners before I cross the street.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC
No one counts the grains of sand
until the last few abandon
their perch atop the glass.
We care not for the song
until the final strain of notes
fade to an eerie silence.
Unnoticed goes the sun
until its journey ends
as it kisses the western horizon.
I suppose what I mean to say,
is in a world that keeps turning,
with people that keep moving,
and things that keep changing,
we do not notice the blessings,
the beauties, or the opportunities
until their time here is done.
In absence, we find appreciation,
but in normality we find forgetfulness.
But fear not the passing things,
for in a life full of closures,
with oncoming completions,
and repeated resolutions,
in the endings we find the beginnings,
the restarts, and the chances anew
when they are least expected.
So fear not, for the hourglass will turn
and though time will not stop for you
it will also never end.
When the ballad fades to silence,
it trades places with another tune
that you will be sure to hear.
And with every sunset comes a sunrise,
so do not forget the sun tomorrow
as it caresses your skin all day long.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
The girl in my favorite jacket
with my exact shade of hair.
The one with my same freckles
and that unamused stare.
She knows me more than anyone
and, at the same time, not at all.
So many noted, collected traits
but without the final call.
Kind or fun or silly
or whatever I may seem.
I know each of the parts of me
But what do they all mean?
The mirror shows me what I know
from outside, not within.
My reflection, both in and outwards,
leads to no conclusion.
I stare at them in earnest
with hope to realize
and as they stare back I ask myself,
what color are my eyes?
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
He loved you.
You knew her.
They passed on.
I went away.
The past can remain with us,
longer than we'd like.
A tragedy, those two small letters
tacked on the end.
A phrase once so
endearing, reassuring, inspiring
now turned
cold, unwelcoming, distant.
As the people once cherished
fade to memory,
as the emotions once felt
become extinct,
we try and mourn them
as fallen pieces in a fallen world.
But we need not regret.
We think the tragedy is in the past tense,
in the ending, the nevermore.
But the tragedy is in the past.
The present is free.
The future is waiting.
Your life is ahead of you,
bright and unscathed.
go. live.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
No stranger to brokenness,
Outward or within.
No foreigner to our damages,
Or any type of sin.
He rubbed shoulders with the beggar,
And broke bread with the lame.
The harlot and the tax collector,
He loves them all the same.
So when you think you’ve gone too far,
Cast your eyes on them.
And know the life of Christ, our God,
Who was poured out for all men.
Don’t listen to the enemy.
Whatever he may say,
And know whenever God saves “them,”
Well, we are those “they.”
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC
Shadowed thoughts drowned out
By the brilliant light of day,
Cowering in crevices
So that they still may stay.
They’ll wait until the sun goes
Until they reappear,
Yet as dusk turns into darkness
They re-emerge as fears.
And their secret tactic
As they try and get to you?
When it gets dark outside,
It gets dark inside too.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 1:43 PM UTC
an empty page
a hopeless start
a blank beginning.
the moment before the brush hits
or the pen touches the sheet.
right before the music starts
or the bridge is burned.
life is full of “almost”s
of “not yet”s
and “just a second”s.
so don’t be afraid of that moment
where your breath catches,
or your heart skips a beat.
because life is full of “thank you”s
of “never again”s
and of everything in between.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 1:43 AM UTC
When I find myself with you
I find myself in not only this moment
But in all the moments to come
to have and to hold
from this day forward.
It’s the Saturday mornings
with their lazy light
and the birds crisp songs
and all the trials and battles
stand still as we remember,
for better or for worse
And the Tuesday nights
as the keys hit the table
after a long day is over
when work was rough
and the week has just begun,
for richer or for poorer
It’s in the Sunday afternoons
as the sun traces its way across the sky
and we rejoice in what we have
whether it be hard or heartening
or the good and the better,
in sickness and in health
Its then that I think of you
In a thousand little moments yet to come
And its then I must remember
to not be so excited for forever
that I forget it is happening right now,
‘til death do us part.
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 4:21 PM UTC
Sitting in our heart of hearts
a kindled pile awaits,
hoping for that tiny spark
that will awake its fate.
Soon to be an ember,
smoldering away,
if we allow that light to catch
and let it have its say.
Flickering to life it comes
once the fire has caught
and nothing can deter its path
with no battle left unfought.
Be wary of this fragile fire
lest it becomes a blaze
and unleash a force so very great
it consumes your ways.
For inside each of us can burn a passion
so pure, wild, untamed,
beware for it’s your only chance
to douse an eternal flame.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 3:38 AM UTC