Relinquish the pencil, the paintbrush,
The paint and the water.
Do not worry about where you’re taken
Or what will be painted.
Let not these things trouble you.
Instead remain blank and open,
Willing to be painted by the ultimate hand.
Do not worry yourself with the picture—
Let the Painter take over,
And the picture He paints
Will be better than whatever you could have.
He brings His Canvas
To the right spot at the right time
And uses the right tools
To form the perfect Picture
That could only be made
On that one Canvas.

Dustdirtgrimefire
Burningburningsulfuracrid
Acidshrapnelpainflare­
Whatwhereconfusion
Flashbangsilencedark
Warmliquiddrippingcold
F­lickerdarkalonehand
My hand No
Not my hand
Hand handnoarm
Cold hand
Alone with me
Shallowbreathingbeatingheart
Chesthurtscan’tmove
Explosionchao­ssilencescreaming
Hellonotonguedead
Helpnocrystrong
Wincecoughsta­bhelp
Lightwaitnowhy
Handreachingeyeblinking
Handarmtorsohead
Per­sonlightblindinghurts
Is this the end?

Clinging to the corner,
The ceiling,
The unused room upstairs,
The dusty cellar basement;
Lurking in the shadows,
Cringing from the light.
Retreating for now
But returning later,
Stronger, faster,
Harder to ignore.
Long, gangly, sickly;
Short, stocky, powerful;
Tiny, flitting, wispy;
Huge, full, pervasive.
Cunning, plotting, patient.
Always there,
Always watching,
Always waiting.

When heads are bowed
And eyes are closed,
The soul escapes.
They leave the Earth
And float on high
Throughout the aether.
They drift together,
Bumping into each other,
Sharing thoughts and feelings.
It’s a beautiful sight,
A beautiful feeling,
Those glittering souls.
Free from the burdens of life,
Bathed in the warm glow above,
All is well.
Until, at least, to the physical
They return.

Sidestep, sidestep,
Twist and lunge.
Day is coming;
Night is done.
Words elusive
Slip though time,
Never joining
To form a line.
Grasses wither,
Flowers bloom;
Sun shines brightly
Amidst the gloom.
Deepest blackness,
Force of night;
Nothing hidden
From its sight.

I look to the horizon with a spyglass,
Trying to discern what’s there.
A small child waits beside me,
And I clutch her hand;
She grips my hand in return
While clinging to the fabric I wear.
We have never been apart in all our years,
Ever since we first met.
I glance at her every now and then,
Look her full in the face,
See the wrinkles that line her eyes
And the pale complexion she shows.
Every so often we converse;
Her voice is still and quiet.
I have to strain to hear her words,
But she has to hear mine as well.
We talk about the days gone by,
The ones she’s living now
While to me they are events of the past.
And once our conversation is over,
I return the spyglass to my eye
And stare beyond the horizon.
I wonder what it’s like over there,
What lies in wait for me.
I imagine myself among those shores,
Wriggling my toes in the sand.
But the time has not yet come,
And I still have a child to care for.
I won’t ever let this child go,
And she knows this,
And adheres herself to my side.
I have been told to let her go,
To leave her with those who will care for her
In ways I never can.
To look around me instead.
But she looks at me with those wide eyes
And my heart is swayed.
So she stays with me on my journey
To beyond the merging of above and below.
And someday, someyear, the horizon
Will come to me, and I to it,
And at last I will know
What was waiting for me.

The clockhands spin,
‘Round and ‘round,
Trapped forever
In an endless cycle of chase and capture,
Flee and chase,
Chase and capture.
‘Round and ‘round
In an endless dance
That lasts long after the hands stop moving.
The hands will spin for eternity,
A backdrop to Life.