I’m reclined in the chair,
For the very first time.
My anxiety at its peak.
It’s black and uncomfortable.
My arm resting on the side.
I begin to bite my cheek.
The equipment sitting there.
Standing by are the people,
Preparing for me, now all set.
I get brave and ready for the needle.

Clear tubes now red,
From my blood running through,
A strange, tingly sensation,
From my blood donation debut.
Racing to the pouch,
Or like a large silly straw,
With some sick beast enjoying
My blood at the end.

Alert at first,
Blinking tiredly soon after,
The room starts to spin.
My eyes playing tricks,
Is all that I could gather.

Suddenly falling,
But deep asleep.
The faces appear,
Absolutely appalling,
Dark orange and black,
Dripping and oozing,
But what flows from them?
My blood, perhaps.

Wait, why am I asleep?

a return to stardust
scattering memories
seeding other worlds.

Walking through, all of my faded memories .
Feeling the chill, of things that been foretold.
Feeling the sorrow, of everyone that I lost.
Seeing people that were better than me past away.
Ones whom were much stronger in the Lord.
For I am by far an imperfect man, I struggle.
With not being completely sinless here on the earth.
For I still struggle with depression, and loneliness.
I really want people to see hope of Christ within me.

I am at peace in wordless scenes
In the dark hollows of sleep
And in the bright wells of daydreams
Where silence is the gatekeeper
And everything is:
       As it seems --

I trust the places where
       noise cannot enter
Where the air is scrubbed clean
And voices surrender
Their so-called meaning

And I can sit mute in the quiet
       field of being --

The same sun
that gives life
to a chrsyanthemum
a red rose, a vine
climbing a live oak
also cast shadows
against pale stones
and tall white walls
of a mausoleum.