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 Mar 2017 George Krokos
Forest
Life, such a splendid puzzle,
It's brilliant design never ceases.
Our dreams provide the game,
And fate provides the pieces.
And I dream..
And in my dreams I am lost,
Seeking a refuge I cannot find.
I awaken with a strange emptiness,
And then she..Comes to mind.
And then I see it..
I see through her brush strokes,
What in my words she can feel.
Through lessons of life, love, and loss,
Like stars..We collide, and heal.
And we connect..
Like branches of the same tree..We connect,
Reaching out toward the endless sky.
Joined by roots born of wonder,
The sun shines love, and passes by.
And I yearn..
Like a broken swan that yearns to fly,
Who's dream is but a feather.
Like an empty, barren, forgotten sky,
Who's dream is but the weather.
And together..
With my battered sails and her wounded love..
We float this sea together.
Connected by the sweet, awful Grace,
Of clever God's that just knew better.
And I hear it..
I hear it calling..
Like the shore calls out the sea
A life spent clumsily chasing the tides..
Now the tides..They chase me.
And it's coming..
Like a band of wild haired stallion's, it's coming
Chasing sweetly the dark of night
Stars beaming overhead so brightly
Not a troubled cloud in sight.
And so I wait..
As the lone wolf waits on the moon,
To light gently, the path of its roam
As the loon cries beautifully in the night for its beloved..
I wait for her to come home.
An all powerful being on a radiant throne, how dare he judge me! A malicious and cruel being who dictates my life, what gives him the right? The truth is a simple one for some and complicated for others, we have a choice, to believe or not, to obey or not, to love or not. The answer is yes or no for us and he judges because he loves us and we are reluctant to judge ourselves.
Water erasing stone,
Color uncovered with each intimate drip
Sandstone? Granite? Clay?
Always shifting.

Life shaping faith
Beauty revealed with each piercing drop
Belief? Truth? Hope?
Oh, how it keeps shifting.

Life sanding stone
miles traveled
conversation, laughter, grief
all sacred sanding, dripping, cutting.

Absolute? Sorry. Safe? Please.
African refugees
and Muslims and holy characters of all walks
sorting, sifting, shifting me and my deepest held belief.

Kneeling on a roof in Delhi, bearing witness
to a thousand rasping coughs offered to heaven
as one desperate prayer,
ascending with the eternal incense
of countless cooking fires.

Simmering in the Carolina sun with Waleed
warm words and a tender heart
intimacy, intimacy with Allah
present the way Aquinas could only hope
for all of us. For me.

Certainty may resist dripping
but the cost, the cost.
Forced, formal, cheap, and cold.
A fearful response to the stunning destruction
of being created.

What if your faithfulness is foolishness? Who are you,
if you miss
the beauty of every drip?
Thinking about faith a lot lately, having wrestled with Christianity and its role in my life for years. Perhaps a step forward.
 Mar 2017 George Krokos
Helen
Months of sweating
vetting every word written
Shivering over all
that remained hidden

Rocking back and forth
Recognising the demons scream
Asking to be fed more
Inside of empty dreams

Then the words, they spill
from cracked and broken lips
bleeding onto tissue paper
inking stains of fatal trips

Then comes the rush
a verbiage of torrential pain
Crouching on a backlit screen
pockmarked with finger stains

The first spike of adrenaline
fizzes inside a broken mind
The churning end to a journey
that has completely left you blind

Collapsing in upon itself
is the high that's found a low
and when the reader is gone
You wonder where you'll go?

Perhaps you'll find a new pusher
Someone else to feed your pain
Someone that will dig that needle
deep
even deeper into the vein
I peer out the porthole into the chaos of the storm,
Disorder, my sole companion

Blue waves crash along the jagged rocks
sprays of melancholic gloom
the wind howls
sounding like the ghosts of past memories
decayed wooden decks rotting from
the salty air
a wailing gust originates from the rusting iron of the ships hull
a hex is placed on it’s journey as the shadowy vessel tears through
the gloomy waters of its past

The past is only a memory,
as I find myself once again in the company of madness
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