I am not worthy of being hers, receiving her love, being held in her arms.

Is a believer worthy or his god's love?
Are you worthy of Jesus's love?

We as human beings have tried to capture what we believe in, what we're most passionate about, through art.

I will try to describe to you my beliefs.
I will try to describe to you my love.

Her ******* could be compared to the most delicious fruit, eaten on a summer day.

Her love is that of no other. It is as powerful as an endless rain, as gentle as a lilac.

Her voice rings true in my ear. There is beauty in truth and her words are a scripture to be worshipped.

Her touch is softer than a cloud in heaven,
yet firm.

Her strength is seldom flexed but when needed she could move a mountain will force of will.

She is love, she is the essence, she fuels desire and stars equally.

She is kindness, she is forgiveness, she is a blessing to me and every other living creature that encounters her.

I am an unworthy servant, I will wash her feet a thousand times.

She is the sun and the moon.

A Half Forgotten Memory of the Train Tracks in Puget Sound

There is a clock resting above a fireplace that hasn't seen a fire in twenty years.
It is fifteen minutes slow and it has been for quite some time.
I used to take it off the mantle and manipulate the dials so as to allow it to correctly display the time.
And my mother would turn it back again.
I never understood the reasons for this,
and I still don't.
And god ******, this clock has no significance and this metaphor slipped my mind as soon as I thought of it and I can't think of enough ways to say I'm sorry.

I trusted you
Wholly and genuinely
I told you things about myself
That I couldn't bring myself to
tell others,
and you tore me apart
from the inside out
manipulation and betrayal
don't have the connotations
to how badly you've hurt me
I love you and I love you and I thought you did too
but actions speak louder than words,
and I don't know if I can forgive yours
and maybe that's why I can't
run away from the taste of blood in my mouth
and the blood in my hair and the blood in my favorite sweater
there was so much blood,
and you weren't there

A statistically probable Car crash
tore open the night with the screams of twisting metal.
The phone calls, the text messages,
that threatened to tear apart my world,
that tore me from my apathy,
and made me feel again.

A statistically probable Break up
tore apart a dear friendship with empty words and tears.
The misunderstandings, the contradiction,
that nearly pulled me under the waves
into the sea of my depression,
to drown me there slowly.

A statistically probable smoker
torn between two sides of of a pained and troubled coin.
The spitefulness, the empathy,
that threatens to bury me in another's pain,
and smother my last shred of love,
leaving me cold and hard.

When you look at the troubles life lay before you,
Sometimes you cannot deny the troubling truth,
That we are all statistics to be calculated,
rarely less, rarely more.

i dream of a death that is reminiscent of sleep,
too deep
to be
in control
and to keep
my mind away

and maybe i will find relief within

my clammy my hands grasp on to my humanity as bit by bit slips through my fingers creating a more numb version of self what's left of me i don't like one bit but i can't help it i am trying and trying to hold on to once was as it floats in the air like the balloons on my thirteenth and the string gets too high much much too high and i yearn and i grasp and it slides from my fingertips up and up and away and away and i can't give a **** i'm a husk of what could be what once was floating through the stars i loved you i loved you i really did try but it wasn't enough not enough time not enough love not enough life
i lost myself and i can't find her and what's left of me can't care to try

it's safe to say that i do believe in soul mates
and you're the closest i've found
through feelings and thoughts and weather and boys
you'll be a constant source of comfort and reassurance
as we brace the cold front of adulthood together
and bare our souls out to each other
during dark and drunken nights
to the tune of top 20 pop music
and you're the only one
i've found safe
to consider
forever with

The clouds have began to gather for the coming fall,
While the birds begin to flock towards warmer climes.
My morning routine has grown longer as the days shorten,
for I must bundle up or the journey to school.  
The cold nips my ears and nose, the only bits of skin exposed.
  My right hand is warmed by the burning ember it cups,
the other is ****** into the pocket of my jacket.  
My mood rises as the temperature drops,
with the cold comes the rain and snow I wait for each year.  
I long for the day I can go home to the clouds in the north, the endless autumn rain, even in the depths of summer, the ice water ocean crashing heavy on the shore, the beautiful emerald ferns and pines of the deepest green.

The clouds have began to gather for the coming fall, and they are making me homesick.