A screeching train
reminiscent of an owl
And a screaming child
strands of experiences
All tangled together

The moment was negligible;
It was a sparse bridge
Of minutes, simply hanging
In the air. I could have sat
And stared at the wall.
I could have sighed
And pulled out my phone.
But a niggling, patient voice
Broke into my thoughts,
And weighed heavily
Upon my neck,
Until my head bowed
And my hair fell over my ears,
Turning a couple lost minutes
Into a private conversation
With God.

The transition of train tracks,
Another hitch in my breath
As the thoughts speed by—

The context blurs with color,
Fields of cattle and flowers,
I try to lower the blinds—

The black coal burns hotter,
Steam of fear filling my eyes,
My Savior boards my mind—

The pressure softens & slows,
Beauty righting itself outside,
Internally I am peaceful—

A quiet truth settles over the
Train car as the sun escapes
From its glaring pride—

He is a better conductor
Than I

Commitment.
It was a suitcase,
by the door.

Alligator skin
& a sqeaky wheel.

How many
times

Have I
watched it

Disappear?

I only meant to understand.
The red on your hands,
your sick smile--
I thought if I could
find the justification,
the reason,
That I could sooth
The seething fire
Inside of you.
But as I digressed
farther and farther
Into the depths,
Searching for that
Part of you,
Trying to imitate it
And become the same,
I found that my steps,
my breadcrumbs,
Had been lost.
I pulled numbly at the ceiling,
trying to find the bulb that
Would bring back the brightness
But the glass shards smashed
under my feet, and now
I understood
Much.
Too.
Well.

The pattern of the chains
Imprints on the pads of
My hands as I cling tightly
To the swings.

My hair is taken by the wind.
I hear a song in my head.
I sway back and forth, my
Feet dry from the sand.

The moment is taken
Too soon.

No matter the years
That settle themselves
On my frame,
I will forever be a Child,
Pushed on the swings
By my Father.

“I want to go home.”

I said the words
Like a child,
The world suddenly
So big, so daunting.

Someone kneeled
Before me.
It didn’t matter who,
And said,
“This is your home,”

Confusion was slanted
On the front door
I had painted,
So long ago.

Still, it was
not my home.

I turned away,
Tears on my skin,
And tipped my head back. 


“Lord, why won’t you
Take me home?”

The trees warbled
As I walked down streets
I hardly knew. 


“You are needed here.
I am not done with you.
Have faith, Child.”

The hours tick by--
Simply beads on
A chain, sliding
Down, down,
Running out of
Space, of yellow
Pearls to complete
The reoccuring
Sequence I 

Cannot bare
To see disrupted.

My bracelet of
Security is
Bound to break,
Scatter the floor
With all of my
Hopes and
Plans.

Before Jesus,
The years were a panel
Of greys,
A paint sample of dreary,
Passing by
With a lack of purpose.
Before Jesus,
My heart palpitated in Me,
Nothingness,
Caught on the fishing hook
Of anxiety
Cast by internal thoughts.
Before Jesus,
Strength was a weakness,
Vulnerability
Reeked of failing trajectory,
Stone-cold,
Unapproachable in self-pity.
Before Jesus,
I waited in secret darkness,
Only yearning
For the limitless grace of God,
Unknowing,
Tangled in lie after wordly lie.
Before Jesus,
I smiled blankly in polaroids,
Unrecognizable,
Fire dormant in my tired eyes,
A lost lamb,
Before the day of transformation,
Immortalized
In the love that will never change.

In Jesus,
Darkness gives way to light.

My heart was an elevator shaft,
Falling too fast, skipping floors—
It was rickety as it tried to fulfill
The orders of my mind, reeling
As each new person found a
Home within its walls.

The button lights flickered, unsure
Of themselves and the places
They were supposed to foretell—
Only, there was a repairman in linen
Who peered over the edge at the
Metal and torn cords.

He knew the only way to make it
Steady again, was to let it descend
Deeper into the depths of the building,
Until the small figure inside looked
Up at him through the square cavity,
And realized it was safe.

The elevator was not falling--

It never had been.

The man in linen held the ropes
With sure, steadfast hands,
Saving me from the darkness
Separating me from Him.

Smudged tiles and tilted walkways,
Machines that clunked and rattled,
Accompanied by drowsy people
Waiting for grace.

I stumbled to an empty metal box,
My filthy rags clutched in my hands,
And threw them in, falling to my knees.
I had no detergent,

No way to wash the deep-rooted stains
The world had reaped upon them.
My own choices stared back at me like
Dirt from the subway.

Tears started to carve tracks down my
Face as the blood of Jesus soaked
Into the garments, covering the grime
As they began to spin.

When I opened the door, they were
Made new again.

Excitement was padded
By the weighted blanket
Of nailed in dates—

Times I knew I could not
Let people down, or back
Out, without hurting them.
I wasn’t giving up—

If it was up to me, I would
Already be up, up, on the
Wind, away from all that
I could not change—

But my soul still resided
Here, in the body God
Crafted for me since the
Beginning—

I was not a bundle of joy,
Planning things with the
Anticipation of a child,
I was a servant—

Abiding God's plan in Him
Wanting me here,
 the Spirit
Working in my otherwise
deceitful heart.

She said the walls always
Seemed to march towards her,
Closing in, squeezing, until she
Couldn’t breathe.

Her eyes pressed shut, and her
Hands didn’t know what to do with
Themselves. I tried to comfort her,
But it was useless.

It seems to me that no matter how
Small a space is, God fills the air and
The very walls, living in the fears we
Perceive all around.

My touch was cold on her stressed skin,
But God’s is gentle, everlasting, like
Laundry fresh from the dryer, warm
And comforting.

When will I crouch down in disbelief,
Holding a beeping metal rod as I
Stare down at the unfeeling mud
That hides my supposed salvation? 

Do I find these answers that I seek
Because I am out looking for them
On windswept ***** beaches, both
Crowded and filled with lightning,
Or do I never find them at all?

I rest for nothing. Day or night,
I sift through granulated rock,
Hoping to find something slightly
Shiny, even if my hands are ruined
And red from the relentless digging.

All along, the answers were not
At my feet, but resting on my shoulder:
A gentle hand, a waiting embrace,
And a father who wanted to walk
With me, not watch as I scrambled
On rocks to insanity—I found
Gilded answers, but not through
A machine or mindlessly scratching.

I found the greatest treasure of all:

My Lord & Savior, Jesus.

The busy-bodied thoughts
That complained they were
Late for work, slowed their
Pace as a gentle Spirit
Descended on the grubby,
Activity-ridden streets.
Their hands loosened their
Grip on the hard-edged
Briefcases, and the buzz
In their bodies settled
Into a lackadaisical hum.

I picked a spot
By the freeway
And sat like a
Beggar,
Pretending
The rush of cars
Was the current
Of a thoughtless
River.

progress only feels like
the past i am giving
up on

Shadows

Become

So much

Darker

When they

Overlay

Each other

I said sorry in my mind.

I reconstructed all of it--
Our past conversations,
The exchange made
Merely minutes ago—
I meant none of it,
What I really meant was. . .
. . .I know . . . Because. . .

Analogging a new answer
In my head, convincing myself
That I had said it all along—
Why do you still act
As if I did wrong? 


Or, perhaps, you brushed it off.
It was not strange to you.
It did not even stick out--
Because you couldn’t see 

All the things I could have said
And wished that I had.

I agonize over the words
That never leave my mouth,
Planning the past meticulously
Until it numbs the weight
That hangs over my chest
From the fumbled encounter
I remember so vividly.

I said sorry in my head,
Were my lips saying
Something different?
I said sorry in my mind.
But even then,
nothing is right,
nor organized,
did I even say sorry?
Or was it a fractured thought,
Underneath the pile,
Grown so high,
Of admonitions and guilt,
Screaming, yet never
Reaching the light?