Do you know who you are?
Or, who you are to me?
Frankly, I don't know anymore
Who you are, or seem to be.

If I were to run away
And leave my cozy home
I'd make the decision consciously
And then wander off alone.

But I suddenly find myself so far—
How did I reach this place?
I seem to have fallen far,
So far from Your grace.

I didn't just wake up one day
And decide to run from You;
I simply slipped from your presence, slowly
Without meaning to.

How will I reach your throne again,
How can I now return?
If I make this decision consciously
Maybe I will learn

That to leave is easy, sadly;
But to return is never hard—
You will always be there, arms open wide
To hold me with Your hands scarred.

I'm sorry for every time I've run,
And found myself so far...
Maybe this time, You'll draw me close
And You'll whisper to my heart,

*“You are forgiven.”

If the Titanic was made to sink,
Then so was my heart,
For I made sure it was impenetrable.
Oh, what a wretched man I am!
Who will save me from this flesh?
Paul whispers in my ear,
Oh, don't worry my friend
You're in good company;
Poets before me have tried
to measure this love,
And if 40,000 brothers cannot
with all of their quantity of love
make up this sum,
Then how can my heart contain this mass?
It would only burst at the seams into
a million tender pieces.
So what then?
What good is a broken heart to You?
Could you even hear my heart from there?
And like a father assuring his son
to come home,
Oh my son, it's enough, it's enough.
So who am I to accept this grace
that just falls like rain?
Cause we all know I chose to lay
my head in this desert.
But like a fish out of water,
We only know then what it means
to be parched.
So if Christ is alive, the love,
and the groom,
Then take heed my friends,
For chivalry is not dead!
For I know no other lover who would
have met me here in this place.
So I awake and I rise from my bed
of complacency--
Oh, my God I've been sleeping
with a corpse!
Oh, and these bed sores they still
rest in my bones,
Oh, how I've made a beautiful dance
with this cadaver, but my audience
is appalled!
Oh, how strong these tendons;
How they desperately need to rip
from this ancient Adam.
So light up the sky, and
Set me aflame;
Burn this bone and tissue,
For I no longer want to be
entangled in this sinew
That hinders my reach towards You.

being back home
is a bit strange

I'm a grown *** man
with my own child
on the way
But my father has a way
of making me feel like a
little boy

grateful I can see love
in his questions and concern
when in the past I only saw control

grateful for my momma's cookin'
and how it keeps on comin'

Tell me I'm not the only one who's a goner,
with controversial thoughts of the presence of
pure goodness within the most contemptible.

Tell me it doesn't seem so preposterous
that the greatest revolters could,
in some way, feel remorse.

Tell me that there at least might be
a glint of goodness in people
if you attempted to flounder them back and forth in your mind,
until everything repugnant, artless, and coarse fell away.

Tell me that maybe then a constellation may form
at the buttom of the pit,
a rare element ambushed in exposed bedrock,
that will be washed out and elevated by a fiery storm upstream.

My soul has been hunted violently by surprise ,
How much hatred and envy she carries in her eyes !

The darkest night eclipses the brightest stars
Eons in solitude
Addled by a sky steeped in navy
Ships with no direction
The soul drowns
Sinking deeper by the hour, by the minute, by each passing second
As it is engulfed in the tar of a languid existence,
There is a vision in spirit awash in a burst of light
Luna bathes all who see her, who trust her
As the darkest soul, full of dreams undreamt
Is blinded by light's quintessence
Yet, at once able to see the truth that is now exposed
And with eyes wide open, naught but a glimpse was caught
A glimpse of an angel

I like talking to people
Because other people are nice
I don't really like talking to you
Because you used to be nice,
And now you're not.  I don't know why.

But I don't feel nice when I talk to you,
I feel like I'm not being nice to you,
And I don't like that feeling.
Should I stop talking to you?

You make me think of things I have tried to forget for a long time
And I don't like thinking of things again,
Because I thought I had made a decision.
But you bring back the doubts I used to have all the time.
I lived with those doubts.  
They keep me from being happy all the time,
And I don't like that.

I don't know what there is that you can do to change things,
But if you could be nice to me, that would make me feel better about talking to you.
Then, maybe we could come to an understanding.
But I don't understand you, and you don't understand me.

I won't go through the hundreds of thoughts I've had about you,
Because you probably don't want to hear them anyway.
I just wish you were someone I'd never known,
And that I could meet you for the first time
And that we could be simple friends.
We messed that up before by being more than friends,
And now I feel like we are so much less than friends.

I wish we could be nice to each other.
I wish it wasn't my fault, or your fault, or life's fault.
I wish I knew what to do about you.
I hope you're okay, and that I am nice to you, even when I don't feel like it.
I hope you don't think unkind things about me.
I can't help it, I guess.  But I can hope.

And I hope you remember me.