The sea was in front of me
and the sea was behind me,
and that was all there was.*

The waves applauded my entrance and
washed the sand from my lost feet.
I was neck deep in a majestic dream,
and the sandman was on my side.
The salt licked every inch of my skin
as I was stripped down to my simplest form,
and the waves awarded me the
approval of my name.
I was serene,
I was free,
and the waves were there to welcome me home.

These ivory, ceramic keys have become foreign
to the grooves cutting across my finger prints.
I force the unfamiliar notes
into the dusty air, and smile
because you once whispered
        I love you because no one else can.

I find myself escaping from dreams
and opening doors into different rooms.
Blue and orange striped sheets,
corduroy cushions,
a white, sleepless bed
greet my coffee muddled irises
as I un-glue eyelids from lens.
And as your pale blue eyes pierce through mine
during these influential moments,
I begin laughing as you whisper
        I love you because no one else will.

I have started to count the seconds it takes
for an ant to scurry across my wood floor.
Two hundred and sixty-three days later
I heard a knock on my door.
Sunlight outlines your blackened figure
and we both whisper
        *I love you because I don't know how to love another.

What is there to do
with time you are wasting away?
Sit transfixed to a seat
uncomfortable from wear,
picking scabs of today's work.
Todays that have turned into
years.
Years of wishing for
tomorrows.
Tomorrow's bell ringing your ears.
Wetting your eyes.
Friction between lung and bone.

What are you doing
wasting your time not staring at stars?
Feeling terribly small
and just as large while holding a child's hand.
Writing stories about the dead
while your lovers live in attics.
Trip though snow and
fall into water's embrace.
Tell your mother you love her and
kiss the forehead of your father.
Run through airports to
fly through trees.
You must sing through fog.
Sing while naked in the fog.

What are you doing
passing the truth as fiction?
Winking and crossing fingers
while standing in intersection.
You must catch yourself on fire
to be humble enough to love.
Jump off building to test your faith.
Sleep on the roof and embrace fear's power.

What is there to do with
all the time I am wasting away?

As we get older, we forget
all the things we cherished.
The further away we grow,
the more we forget
to remember
Remember to hold those things close
Remember to never let go.
I wish I could know
what a child knows.

What they know
without the slightest hint
of the doubt
that overwhelms me now.
I want to remember
what it feels like
to love without restraint
to love without fear
and love without pain
The love only a child knows.

I want to know a Jesus
who resides in my heart
and protects me from the hurt.
I want to know a Jesus
who is my own peaceful warrior
who doesn't create evil.
I want to know what a child knows.

Take me back
to when my daddy knew everything
for me
To the place where base
was the only safety I considered
To when I knew all I needed
about God
To a place where I believe wholeheartedly
in something crazy
Take  me to the place
only a child knows

Where there is good
that is genuine
Where brokenness
is the start
The altar
is the healing
And hope
is redemption
Help me to know
what a child knows

Can anyone but the innocent and unexposed
truly know these things?
Is it possible for someone
to feel the pain
to see the hurt
to bear the load
and still believe?
Can we honestly believe
with the passion of a child?

I have seen
the good in people.
I have experienced
the hurt, and felt
the healing
I have been let down
thrown down
shut down
I have yet
to be broken down.

Deep within me
there is a place
Where the truth will prevail
the sincere will overcome
the place
only a child knows.

With a gluttonous obesity that devours love,
spits up lust,
and snacks on a
high-carb
pre-cooked
combination of the two,

we're counting calories consumed
with a track record of lovers,
regurgitating with regret and
binging again anyway when hunger pains strike.

Eventually we'll all suffocate
under the weight of the world.

there are rose hips
swirled in
with the peace
of your womb,

they made their way in
through your nerve endings
and they crashed in
with the tide,
bringing newfound calm
to the child
who rests there

underneath
the cigarette slick
of your lungs,
the dripping hot flesh
of your stomach,
the stiffness
in your bones --

she swims
in decay
and swallows it
like a fog, she
simmers pink
with tender arms
and clouded eye,

she waits
for you
to notice her