This rock is strong.
A sheltering reef, encircling the first hints of growth
And keeping the water smooth and calm
As molten magma rises to the surface and the monolith takes shape.

This rock is solid.
As the protective reef sinks into the sea
The waters rise and begin to pound the stone's mighty face
Testing, trying, searching for any weakness.

This rock is sure.
The reef is mostly gone now
And the waves bring their full fury to bear
But its foundation holds fast and it stands tall.

This rock is stalwart.
Many storms have come, and many storms have passed
Though chipped and battered, weathered and worn
Its proud head remains held high.

This rock is softening.
An active volcano rises, rises, just too close
Molten fingers snaking out, melting solid stone
A foundation under fire.

This rock is not a rock at all.
It stirs and awakens
Trembling, tender, and reaching out
Toward heat, toward desire
Toward you.

This planet in its course proceeds apace
Careening through the stars with not a care
For all the souls that dwell upon its face
Their sorrows, nor the triumphs that they share
The sun o'er the horizon peeks its head 
And casts its warmth to all beneath its rays
'Tis no less bright for all the tears we shed
But still it shines to guide us through our days
The flow'rs still bloom with beauty just as bright
And heav'nward reach, the sun's embrace to feel
Their small, glad faces bringing joy and light
To every burdened heart with wounds to heal
Yes, life still marches on without you here
Yet sweeter would it be if you were near

This one is for my grieving family.

When people say that their hearts are heavy they hit the nail on the head, and right now mine feels like it weighs about a thousand pounds. With each new loss it gains weight and drags down, pulling on the vessels that are supposed to give life until they become a noose circling my windpipe, cutting off my precious supply of air. I can't breathe. It seems that every day now I hear the echoing sounds of the cries and the groans that bounce their way down the Facebook grapevine, another status update with another picture of another face that the Enemy took before their time. Even from where I stand, a thousand miles from the epicenter, I can barely keep on my feet because I'm rocked by the aftershock tremors as they come, one on top of the other. It seems these days the valley just can't catch a break, with tragedy striking faster and faster, giving the people barely enough time to pull themselves from the rubble that is the aftermath of the last disaster before the next one sends them running even faster to dive back into their foxholes. And when they finally dare to get to their feet, the only things before their eyes are broken homes and broken lives, gaping holes that can never be filled, the growing numbers of loved ones killed in this war in whose crossfire we find ourself caught.

This one is for my broken valley.

Now, we know of this epic struggle between forces we cannot see, this fight we call the Great Controversy, but while some hide in their foxholes and pray for mercy others choose to be the warriors on the front lines, the Maddys and Fishers and Rosas who let their lights shine both to drive back the darkness and to encourage those of us who aren't so fearless to don our full armor and enter the battle with the same reckless abandon. And though they have fallen we choose to stand in their places, filling the holes in the battle lines and praying for their souls that have gone to rest. We fight on through these tragedies that test our faith, and we look to our great General, who alone knows the lay of the battlefield and the day of victory.

This one is for Rosa, for Fisher, for Maddy.

Every bridge we hold, every hill we storm, we do with their memory in our hearts and their names ringing on our lips. We will continue this fight until the light fades from our eyes and our time on earth is done, knowing that we all will be reunited on that day when Jesus finally comes.

This one is for my family that will be made whole again one day.

I am empty.
This pen has run all out of ink.
After all, aren’t there only so many ways
You can scream “sorry” to the wind?
A finite number of variations on
"Miss you," whispered into the infinite silence?

You are no more than an echo on my bones
But that knowledge does not keep me
From laying open skin and muscle
Layer by layer, baring my bones
Like some garish xylophone
And clumsily tap-tap-tapping,
Trying to recreate the faint melody
That hovers in the twilight of memory
Nothing more than a vague outline
Nearly blending into the horizon

You are no more than a ghost in my darkened corners
And still I chase your insubstantial form
A will-o-the-wisp that draws me into the marshland of my mind
Looking to catch the faintest impish flash of blue-gray mischief
Pursing the shadowy figure in hopes that this time—
This time!—
It will prove more substantial than the vanishing mist
My arms have closed around, every time past
Once again I pick myself up out of the mire
Trying to brush off the clinging regrets
And plod back towards the path
Feet dragging and leaving furrows in the ground
Like an empty pen, still scratching its way across a barren page
Determined to ignore any more dancing lights in the distance
Knowing all too well that the resolve will only last
Until the next one flickers to life and calls me into the darkness

I am empty.
Nothing more to say about reckless dreams of forever
No reason to keep staring downriver
Wondering how far that ship might have sailed
Had I chosen to remain at its helm through rocky waters
And yet, when I look back at the blank page
I discover that the pen wasn’t empty after all
And the trail it left behind
Still spells your name

I see now--you were
more than just a stop on the
journey; you were home.

A drop of oil
Though surrounded by ocean
Still wholly alone

Your eyes are not stars
They do not glow with heavenly light
Neither are they limpid pools
Inviting me to explore their endless depths
I have no metaphor for your eyes
For iris and pupil, muscle and neuron
But somehow they hold a wicked gleam
The mark of mischief, past and future

I can't look away.

Your smile is not the sun
It does not give off heat to be basked in
Neither is it a blinding light
Too powerful for a direct glance
I have no metaphor for your smile
For skin and tooth and muscle
But somehow it spreads from mouth to eyes
And in that moment, you've never smiled at anyone else

I can't help but smile back.

Your touch is not fire
It does not leave burns in its wake
Neither is it lightning
Releasing electric charge as distance closes
I have no metaphor for your touch
For the feel of skin against skin
But somehow every brushing contact
Leaves a trail of goosebumps

I can't breathe.

You defy metaphor
I do not wish you to be the sun, or the stars
A limpid pool, a blinding light
Or anything but what you are
I have no metaphor for you
For beauty and brilliance, sweetness and sass
But with each word, each look, each touch
You draw me further and further in

I am wholly captivated.