If I get lost, promise you'd leave me be
Let me walk alone in my circles
I'll find my way back...almost instinctively
Through looping thoughts and scribbles

If I should trip, promise you'd let me fall
Scrape my knee and scream a voiceless scream
Weight of the universe may seem crushing to shoulders so small
I'll walk it off and regain newfound steam

If I show signs of buckling, promise you'd let me collapse into nothing
Let me fold into myself...into an unnoticeable speck
There is solace in this space when the walls are caving
Soon I would reinvent and renew from that wreck

If I suffer a cut, promise you'd just let me bleed
Let the black of my soul gush out
Within it I would find the seed
To which all of my rantings are about

If I should begin to write, promise you'd read my scrawls
Take them as they are and not to heart
Just thoughts versus words that mean much or nothing at all
They'd stitch me anew when I start to break apart

If I keep losing myself, promise that you'd let me be
The circles I tread are very much predictable
They'd always lead me around... Don't treat me differently
Just stay where you are... I'll come back round, fresh and able...

I’ve tried to write you a poem, Ashley,
About you, but no matter how much
I try to write, it still doesn’t suit me.
I just want to say what a good friend
You are to me, and that I love you.
I can’t quite tell you just how much,
But since our friendship grew…
Well, let’s just say I think you’re amazing.

With a sigh you turn away
With a deepening heart
No more words to say
You will find that the world
Has changed forever

And the trees are now turning
From green to gold
And the sun is now fading
I wish I could hold you closer

Time and tide will sweep away.

I was afraid I would lose you.                                                    And then I did

"In the beginning was the Word..."

The voice of the Creator
awakened the universe into being,
a Word spoken out of nothing that
echoes in eternity.

A sound that collapses time and place
and brings forth the Word to echo
infinitely through all the ages.

The Word chose to dwell among us
in the form of a vulnerable human being,
who was flesh and blood like me.

You and I share the imago dei, and
like the Word made flesh can yearn
for unity with the Creator.

The Word echoes in our flesh,
and reverberates through our hearts.

We encounter the Word knocking at our door,
when we welcome the stranger.  

May the sound of love echo through my soul into yours.
May these words speak life into mine and to yours till
the sound vibrates into a we.  

No longer separate and alone, but home.

All I feel is the power,
The wind on my face
As I sit, towered
Above this place.
I feel the strength
Of his muscles as
They stretch leg’s length
And then once again – as
A drunk with his drinking–
He pulls the ground
Towards him, linking
Each stride to howling hound
As it calls up ahead.
His eagerness proves
What this horse was bred
For as his speed improves
And I find myself
Flying, floating, soaring,
As one finds oneself
When on a horse, exploring.

First you ask the question:
Who is my hero? Do I know?
Then I must mention,
What do they want?
What of this challenge
Is there to daunt?
How, then, is he or she
Pursuing this goal?
What is their heart’s key?
What are the stakes?
And to get to this goal,
Will he or she do what it takes?
Do they reach the goal?
And if not, what will
Happen if this goal
Is not reached?
What if their mission
Is suddenly breached?
Also, we must add
Will they stay focused?
If indeed the goal had
Been reached, is it
After all what they truly
Wanted, or must they admit
Their goal was wrong?

My ink may run
as black as coal,
as dark as
a dark night
of the soul.

Or flow red hued
like the morning sky;
as red as love,
or red man's blood
on hard-baked clay.

Yellow ink hues
my many suns,
my moons
the color of
dry bone.

Blue-inked waves
may wash my
blues away,
or sing the blues as blue
as muddy waters.

Gray ink clouds
on a fog-shrouded
empty highway
take me from here
to the Blue Ridge
mountains.

White-capped sailors
sail the arctic
as lost as
my white ink
on a blank page.

r ~ 5/13/14