You’re eighteen-years-old.

This role is not yours to be had.

If it were, you would challenge the direction of your country.

College isn’t beyond the summer.

Draft cards don’t burn easily.

Enlistment is the only choice; at least you get a choice.

All, because your country called so loudly.

Soon, you will be on a boat halfway around the world.



To get there, you will travel the path of least resistance.

Any attempt to object would be futile.

Sailors do as they are told.



Pain, both mental and physical, are in store for you.

But, for now, you are nervous and excited.

This torment will last you a lifetime.

It will only be known to a select few.

I am proud to be in that group.

How did you get here?

A boy from Frederick…

A life defined by a cell.

These moments are meant to crush normal men.

You aren’t a normal man.

No, you’re a caged bird meant to fly.

And soon you’ll make your greatest escape.



As you do, lives will be forever changed.

Each decision will alter the timeline.

Space and time will bend.

Men will be left on the battlefield.

Lives will be saved.

Boots and blood; blood all around.

Crimson shines brightest in the moonlight.



Years from this moment, you’ll blame yourself.

The night will be filled with terror.

Please remember though, all you could do was run.

You still had wars to fight.

Martyrs from Manitou don’t die.
They give of themselves completely.
A life chained to the field wasn’t him.
He was always meant for bigger things.
The fault of a father can’t deny him.
Shortcomings never make very impressive shadows.
Where the father fails, the mother shines.
Her love guides him.
The pain stays with him to this day.
You should know this, as we lower you into the ground,
No man can beat him to death
And you never could.

Our hero is and was destined for bigger moments.
War was around the corner.

The world is a challenging place.
It is a place I must occupy with other people.
I live with them here.
Everywhere I turn, their ideas and opinions follow.
They are heavy as a shadow.
Even at noon and midnight, I feel them near.

I dream of escape too.
Sometimes, the frustration becomes overwhelming.
A perfect path, the light, seems so obvious.
Cemented interests say otherwise.
So, we fight. We become violence.
All to prove a point to people who are not listening.

I sit on the edge of the world.
My feet hanging out in space.
Shoes kicked off are now lost to the laws of physics.
I am thinking of jumping.
Black, dark, and a need to get away.
Consumed on Earth. Swallowed by the infinite.
Maybe I will stay put. Maybe I won’t.
The choice is still mine.

Crowded around a kitchen table,
Tonight, we are in the business of solving problems;
The world has plenty to go around.
With every sip, the challenges become less.
Every rotation of a record means something new.

Our days of festive evenings have passed.
We are here now.
Or, perhaps at a corner bar.
We are together, though.
It is something new;
A spirit of revelry.

The world seems to find us standing still.
All the while, days on the calendar escape us.
Time betrays us all.
All the while, exposing our greatness weakness, hesitance.
But not now.
Here, time slows down.
The kitchen table could be a pew.
We are filling each other up.
This is the spirit of revelry.

Sitting among the headstones.
The Oklahoma sun shines down on me.
Birds sing their afternoon song.
They have no use for reverence.
Underneath, you are changing.
A hostile heart is becoming something new.
The cool grass sways near me.
Ants assume dutiful work.
My mind wanders, as is frequently the case.
I miss you.
Longing for second chances,
A monologue is started for no one.
It may be meant for me;
Something to put a restless mind at ease.
Searching for second chances.
Redemption that will never come.
The time spent here is important.
Another trip may not be within me.
Circumstances will lead me away,
But my heart is changing.
All because you are here.

Never meant to be a symbol.
There are others who came before.
They carried the cross long before me.
I walk their path with head held high;
A journey emblematic of the times.

Getting here took some time.
Determination of Napoleon…
The grit of John Wayne…
The courage of the Cowardly Lion…
All emblematic of what was required.

Now, I am free.
Life is different now.
I am surrounded by those who matter.
Their love consumes like the ocean.
I am planning on drinking it in.
What happens next is meant for me.

With the window down,
Emotion pours onto the street.
It is displayed in two-part harmony.
A representation of who I am;
Something for all to hear.
There are those who disagree.
Despite the volume, the message isn’t meant for them.

It is the pain I feel.
The joy in my soul.
The lies I tell myself.
An ideal.
These songs are me.
A hum and a stretch of road,
Meant to signify the coming of life.

So much to experience with the windows down.

Being an older brother is tough.

Assuming the role of child and parent at the same time.

You are no saint.

Often expected to be one.

All the pressure, take me back.



Playing in the backyard.

Expected to be a mediator.

You needing some idea of childhood.

Wondering if you’ll ever get one.

All the pressure, take me back.



They look up to you.

Offering words of wisdom when possible.

Letting them fail as you did.

Protecting them as you should.

All the pressure, take me back.



Soon, you’ll be grown.

Love will mean more.

Adult decisions looming before you.

Tears dropping to the carpeted floor.

Pressure I never asked for.

A never-ending source of energy.
A flurry of activity above.
A flurry of activity below.
Constantly pushing forward;
Waves cycling toward the shore.

Standing, sand ankle deep, cold and salty water wash over me.
At this moment, I feel free.
My sins are baptized in the ocean.
The burden is lifted from my shoulders;
A mind left to wander.
I possess a body willing to do the same.

A never-ending source of pain.
A flurry of life above.
A flurry of life below.
Drawing strength to push forward.
Waves cycling toward the shore.

We are born to die;
Such a defeating way to look at the world.
It ignores the possibility of progress and hope.

We are born to live.
In that view, we move humanity forward.
Generation after generation is born again.

We are born to prosper.
Here, we can make ourselves better.
Humanity is given a chance to change.

We are born to embrace the long view.
What we do now holds weight.
The world is offered a fighting chance.

For me, nothing is more powerful than my regret.

It feels like Everest and I can’t climb.

Living has become the hardest part.

It is measured in breaths successfully taken.

This is what winning feels like.



As hard as I wish, the past isn’t done with me.

You will never leave that moment in time.

We are like anchors forgotten in the sea.

What might have been felt as real and constant as a pulse.

Thunderously beating, I rise and collect myself.

Now, we pretend to be strong.

Not just for me, but for all of us.

Because we all have regret and lives to live.



Below me is a casket; it is holding you.

The words cascade from my mouth like never before.

In and out of an out of body experience, you guide me through.

I wish I could have done more for you.

This is my regret.

With hesitation, we pull away from the drive.
The destination is known.
The journey is not.
I am alone on this trip but I am not alone.
With me, is every person who has ever impacted my life.
We are now on the open road.

Hesitation is the byproduct of change.
Comfort is king and I am looking for a new crown.
Part torture, part release, I never tire of the thrill.
New places, new faces, new ways of doing things.
The reunion is filled with old routines.
We are pulling into a new home.

With hesitation, I unpack my life.
I am praying for an embrace.
We need someone to calm the storms.
Here, we begin again.
Home is established far from it.
We are masters of a new universe.

It wasn't your song on the radio.

I don't even know if you like the band.

Every lyric reminded me of you, though.

Filled with guilt and regret, I drove on.

Holding firm to the wheel, I was torn to tears.

My car doing 60 in the center lane.



"Drugs or Me" screamed of you.

I wish there hadn't been a choice.

Your side should have been at the forefront.

Ultimatums usually do no earthly good.

It was a hard lesson to learn.

Today's lesson came in the form of a song.



The interstate feels like hell today.

I fear the track to be played next.

Mixes can be a dangerous thing.

The world is a blur below me.
Green of every shade acts like a carpet.
Concrete veins connect the modern world.
We are clouds now.
No longer men, we are now more angels than our human selves.
In the distance, a thin blue line behind me.

We are leaving behind all we knew.
This plane is destined for something new.
Crossing the Atlantic, we are to be born again.
All that was is becoming smaller and smaller now.

Soon, feet will be freshly placed where few have dared to go.
Far from a burden, this is more like a revelation.
What encompassed the thin blue line is a world away.

Broken glass in various forms washes up on ocean shores.
Edges smoothed by the violence of salt.
The water was never meant to be home.
Again, they find themselves in unfamiliar territory.

As I stand over green, blue, and brown pieces, the sun breaks through.
Gathering warmth, they shine in the winter air.
Here, before me is a metaphor for my life.

I am broken glass in various forms.
Made of varying shapes and types, I have found myself on unfamiliar shores.
Beached for a while then taken into the grips of the vast, I return again to where it all started.

Now, people comment on how out of place I am.
In the same breath, they compliment my beauty.
We are products of our environments.
Time moves us into new directions and places.
When uncomfortable, we shine.

Looking up from the glass, I feel a calm come over me.
Epiphanies come to me in the strangest places.

For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is December’s poem. Enjoy!

A year in the rearview.
A solitary month remains.
We must make the most of this opportunity.
Do now what could be left for next year.

I decided to love.
Chosen above all else.
I chose to be happy.
My reflection smiling back at me.

Be selfish in this moment.
Be better.
Devote yourself to something bigger.
An actual member of the human race.

I choose to give.
My fellow man deserves giving.
The world needs more of us.
These are armies I can support.

Lay down your arms.
Pick up love instead.
Confront the new year boldly.
Do so with bravery.

You don't need a revolution.
Lay claim to yourself.
Hold dear those you love.
Hold more, if you can.

Those are actions that can save the world.
Some will laugh.
Others will mock.
Let them.

They are the problem.
We are the solution.
We are the new year.

For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is November’s poem. Enjoy!

Thirty-three years old.
A brother lost.
A father fighting on.
A mother standing tall.

I feel brave.
Only death can defeat me.
It nearly did.

Still, I stand.
We all do.

We are like trees in a windstorm.

Life discounts me.
That is its mistake.

We've been to the brink.
We've stared over the cliff.
Edges are nothing to be feared.

Life defined in two parts.
My own personal B.C. and A.D.
Before destroys me.
The next is mine.

With bated breath.
I turn the page.
I begin writing a new chapter.

Much will be said of this time.
It is my beacon of hope.

These hours are mine.

Numbers on a wall,
Each with a purpose.

Let's use this story.
Let's save a soul.
November 3rd can change things.

For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is October’s poem. Enjoy!

Red, orange, and yellow.
I am succumbing to a cascade of color.
No longer who I was.
Now, who I am meant to be.

I am falling deeply in love with you.
This time of year draws me nearer.
It must be the season.
When all fails, you remain constant.

I have worked my whole life for this.
You are what I deserve.
This feels like something promised.
Or a dream realized.

Fall clothes are dusted off.
The closet is filled with new life.
Nothing else remains there.
We live an honest love.

Fires are being built.
Everything is in its proper place.
So are you.
We ready ourselves for the cold.

Those darkened days will come.
This is truer than we realize.
We would do ourselves justice,
If we would prepare for the moment.

Change surprises so many couples.
We can learn from this.
They can be our guide;
Our north star in the Seattle night.

Until then, I love you.
Beyond our failings,
This will remain true.

For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is August’s poem. Enjoy!

We are wrapped in the heat of summer.
The sun's rays stab at our exposed backs.

Fall offers temporary relief.
An explosion of color everywhere we look.

Winters here are brutal.
The rain never seems to stop.

Finally, spring brings forth new life.
Something is reborn within me.

Another trip around the sun.
Nothing quiets the soul like the cosmos.
Eternal darkness sure feels small.
Maybe we are alone.

Staring across the passage of time,
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Not even at this moment
Is the pain of alone ours.

Our lives are intertwined.
We are stars filling the void.
Soon, we will realize this truth.
Hopefully, before it is too late.

Our moment is short.
Time never relinquishes its steely grasp.
So love...
Love with all that you have.

Before you know it,
Darkness will consume.
Be assured of your place in history.
Know your legacy.

Let time pass.
Be the best you.
The seasons of your life should reflect that.

For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is June’s poem. Enjoy!


A crack runs through the windshield.

This is how life goes.

Perhaps, a metaphor for something bigger.



We move down the road;

Drinking in the scenery like quiet passengers.

Our view is obstructed though.



A crack runs through the windshield.

A tear cuts across me too.

Perhaps, neither shall be repaired.



Travel provides life lessons.

These vistas seen at 70 MPH matter.

Who is sitting next to you matters more.



A crack runs through the windshield.

No break found in the rearview;

Future and past boldly symbolic.



I grab his hand.

In the safety of this car, there is no one to judge.

Our love is left alone.



A crack runs through the windshield.

I don’t belong to this fate.

This wasn’t meant to be my life.



The highway won’t claim me.

It will set me free.

Unbound, hovering over yellow stripes.



A crack runs through the windshield.

We are defined by the optical illusion.

Things could be worse.



We are finally free.

He will forever be mine.

Cracks can be repaired.

For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is May’s poem. Enjoy!

City streets littered with couples holding hands,
But we aren't one of them.
We can't be.
These streets are Titanic safe.
False promises are everywhere you look;
People who support as long as they don't have to watch.

We are always made to feel like the other.
If they could see us at home,
Maybe all would be different.
They would see themselves.
Simply, a couple.

So, we walk down city streets like friends.
Our expressions stand as the only truth.

We are new to this world.
Perhaps our courage will grow.
Maybe self-advocacy is to be had still.
This feels like someone else's war.
Our armor remains in the closet.
We escaped long ago!
All I want is to grab his hand.

My love shows in other ways.
Power is always on display.
The public can't take that away from me.
My love is real.

City streets are war zones.
We are merely soldiers of the sidewalk.
Our only goal is the destination;
Often, simply, returning home.
There is safety and security.
There love flourishes.
Just as it should.

For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is April’s poem. Enjoy!

Salvation was offered in the Safeway check-out line today.
It was delivered in the form of presumed morality.
Letting someone cut in line never seemed so significant.
I had to stand for what I believe,
Even if it meant denying who I used to be.

I believe in mankind.
I believe in shared humanity.
I believe your pain belongs to me.
My pain is your burden.
Our lives are shared.

For some, this message is too simple.
They are consumed with the folly of man.
All they ever see is sin.
Life is not that simple.
Man is machine complex.

He is built to be good.
Often, his selfishness rules the day.
Yet, his core is constructed to care.
His actions define the day.
As a species, he may disappoint you.
As an individual, I see potential.

I defend the human race.
I am a proud member of it.

Religion drove me to this point.
Towers falling forced me to look away.
I told the man in line the same thing.
He probably doubts my belief in humanity too!
Yet, I press forward.
Doing the absolute best I can.
I expect you to do the same.

For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is March’s poem. Enjoy!

A lust for travel.
Open road as religion.
Rubber and road offering redemption.

I couldn’t imagine anyone else by my side.
Attacking this world together.
We leave a mark everywhere we go.
Here is somewhere that once seemed like nowhere.
You are someone who once seemed like no one.

All is different now behind this wheel.
Everything and anything seems possible.

With vastness before us,
Space begins to open all around.
We are defining the world on our terms.
The stars hang above like a summer, revival canopy.
Here we are to receive a message;
A message to be shared far and wide,
As if from the mouth of God!

Your life is not your own.
It is meant to be shaped by experiences.
It is meant to be shared.
Make it a memorable one.

This road has an ending though.
Soon, the realness of life will return.
We do ourselves justice to remember this sense of freedom.
We do ourselves service to remember the love.
At times, it will be all that we have.
But it will always be what we need.
Just remember the open road.
Just be here in this moment.

For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is February’s poem. Enjoy!

Love is no longer a fleeting feeling.
It is here and it is real.
Love required the patience of cosmos beginning to form.
It demanded an evolution of who I am.

Love was worth waiting for.
You were worth the time it took to find something real.
Love was like an invitation from a long lost friend.
One day it quietly arrived in the mail.
To my surprise, it was addressed to me.

Love is standing before me.
It shall not waiver.
It shall not falter.
I shall do my best to be worthy of your gifts.

I am worthy.
I am worthy of love.
We all are.
We are all worthy of love.

We all deserve someone who takes our breath away.
I count myself lucky to have stumbled across such a person.
I find myself struggling to still catch my breath.
It is going to be this way for a long time.

I hope true love shall visit your door.
This life is meant to be shared.
The joy you will encounter is too much for one person.
So too is the pain.

Find love in all that you do.
Give it everywhere you go.
Allow it to be the freest of gifts.
Love for your soul.

A new blank page.
A chance to begin anew.
Fresh starts can be filled with fear.
They can also present hope misplaced.
Opportunities seem boundless, so calm the riot.
We have work to do.

Roll up your sleeves and attack the new year.
Attack with the force of guided truth.
Your force shall be your guide.
We are equipped to move mountains;
If only we believe it to be true.

The days ahead are your weapons.
Guard them with your life.
We are promised our fair share, but not tomorrow.
Remember that as you move forward.

I will be there to protect you.
Just call on me.
We will boldly go together;
Moving toward the dawn of a new day.
Always with the thought of what is possible before us.
Achieving and failing as we go.
Lessons learned as part of the human condition.

This, my friend, is the new year.
Don’t walk filled with daunting fear.
Walk with your head held high.
Fill it with hope.
Fill it with opportunity.
Fill it with all that you can be.

Soon, another month will be upon us.
By now, we’ve learned our time is short.
Don’t wait.

7 days ago, you were still here.
As the hours ticked away, you were consumed;
Consumed with rage and pain.
You were unable to see the future.
Soon, all would be washed away.

7 days ago, you were still here.
Blinded by the end, you calmly sat;
You sat in a field filled with nothing, but the end.
Time was not on your side.
Soon, all would be washed away.

7 days ago, you left us.
Pain breathed its last breath and you were gone;  
Gone was the disappointment and the need for forgiveness.
We rushed from every corner.
Soon, all would be washed away.

7 days ago, we were forced to hold time in our hands.
Questions that can never be answered, yet we press on;
Pressing forward to a new normal.
A place and a time without you.
Soon, all will be washed away.

Couldn’t be found anywhere else.
The coast is home now.
A door closed on what used to be.
Dramatic moves, all for something new.
In hopes of far-fetched ideals.
Three years later,
A picture perfect realization;
This life is mine.
I get to choose.
Adding value, welcome.
Adding pain, dismissed.
It is dismissed.
All is left behind,
Down by the water.

Time for something drastic.
Defining life on his own terms.
No angels. No demons.
No expectations. Just drift.
North to South.

Walk while the coast heals wounds.
The sea breeze renews.
Salt in the air acts like a baptism.
Sins of the self washed away.
North to South.

To be alone. To think. To reinvent.
Depending on oneself.
Food, water, and survival with these two hands.
Not needing much more than that.
North to South.

Not the destination.
More the journey.
Replenished.
From here, sorting life out.
North to South.

Unmotivated due to a lack of emotional connection.
Just a name in the crowd.
Simply, a paycheck.
Not where he saw himself at 30.
Delusions of grandeur.
Perhaps, a life wasted.
Daily, compared to the best face of others.
He is down and out.

Will he rise again?
The spark struck.
Someone to look up to.
Life altering work.
Fulfilling teenage dreams.
Best of self.
Lives changed.
No need for the contrast.
He is standing tall.

Huddled masses longing to be free.

Each name has a story.

More than populace. They represent something.

Where they call home is a representation of who they are.

Their fears. Their worries. Their struggles.

Their hopes. Their values. Their triumphs.



Cities as collectives.

More than high rises, honking horns, and busy people.

In them, is a movement.

They are changing. They are evolving. They are new.

Trying to make a mark on the place they call home.

Attempting to allow the exchange of impact.



Our time is too short.

The possible experiences to he had are vast.

We are measured by our faith, love, and devotion.

We are also shaped by the place we call home.

It is much more than a city.

We are much more than just a name.

Corner coffee shop.
The world shoulders by.
The challenges of the day are on their minds.
Collectively, they struggle.
All are trying to find a place in this world.

Some seem consumed with God.
Others do not.
It is hard to tell the difference.
And that’s fine for these people by the lake.
Collectively, they struggle.
All are trying to find a place in this world.

When keeping Chicago,
You’re forced out of a comfort zone.
People, places and things; all new.
They are a lesson to be learned.
Collectively, they struggle.
All are trying to find a place in this world.

The devil and angel on my opposing shoulders have departed.
Staring into a bathroom mirror, I wonder what went wrong.
Happiness. Satisfaction. Triumph.
Pain. Misery. Alone.
How did we get back here?

This bathroom mirror has dealt with us before.
It is not kind.
Spinning wild tales and half-truths,
It becomes nearly impossible to wipe away the lies.
Yet, you can’t help but wonder;
How did we get back here?

This life is a blur.
It escapes the room like air from the mouths of those locked in debate.
You can’t help but wonder;
Am I to do this alone?
The end may already be known to me.

It is just a relationship.
To some, it is worthy of hell.
Full of kisses, hand holding and disagreements.
The lowest form of sin.
It will grow, blossom and mature.
For it, the wages equal damnation.
Yet, I am the anchor.

It began so innocently.
Yet, we will die persecuted.
In a very modern way…
Born to a society worshipping ancient text.
A love like any other.
A love not meant for the respect of law.
Yet, I am the anchor.

Maybe marriage.
Unholy.
Maybe kids.
Be ******.
Growing old.
Sinning the whole time.
Yet, I am the anchor.

The sharks have been circling.
They wait for blood in the water.
The tiniest drop will unleash a frenzy.
Everywhere you go, you are questioned.
They are relentless.
It is impossible for them to understand the choice you’ve made.
For precisely this reason, the choice was not theirs to be made.

As you reemerge from the water, shock overcomes them.
They cling to God and begotten scripture.
You’ve made a choice to be this way.
“His holiness wouldn’t make you this person.”
They pray wishing it were possible to throw you back.
There is hope and recommitment in the sea.
You aren’t going back.

You are walking on land.
With head held high, you leave behind the X in the water.
For the first time, you are filled with pride and love.
Life is born anew and so are you.

The king died today.
It stopped the world in its tracks.
The news spread like a forest fire.
We mourned as we searched for comfort found in quotes.
We had to draw a lesson from his life.

Jailed, tormented and finally freed,
He rose to the height of king.
All the while, fist clinched.
A symbol held in the air for all to see.
Democratically elected, he knew man was meant to be free.

We often talk of things needing to be done.
He was in the business of doing.
From here, we can draw inspiration.
Here, his light shines on us.
We are to be kings.
Kings of our own destiny.
Gods of the possible.

Change has two faces.
At times, it seems glacial.
At others, it sweeps over us at a rapid face.
But change comes for us all.

Love has two faces.
It can seem just out of reach.
Or it makes itself known when we least expect it.
Love has a way of finding us all.

Pain has two faces.
Often, unbearable.
Then, something to be triumphed.
Pain is often born out of love and it has a way of changing us all.

And with wrist close and overlapped, we march on.
Despite the changes and pain.
Love has us marching on.
It is our way of seeing this life through.

Offering aid and comfort to the poor isn't a calling.
It is a commandment.
Something all are to do,
But few attempt.
Rather, we formulate a showdown.

"For the least of these,"
Is how the words of the supposed savior begin.
They may be the most ignored words in the whole book.
Ignored out of sheer inconvenience.
Rather, we formulate a showdown.

The posturing must end.
We either give of ourselves fully, no matter faith,
Or we quit pretending.
We can't do both.
No more manufactured showdowns.

Backwards hat displaying his favorite team.
Camouflage blowing in the breeze.
Desert wind whipping stars and stripes into a fury.
Tortured holidays spent away from home.
A ration of turkey will have to do.
X tattoo on his upper arm.
A shaky faith in God.
A devil who feels more real.
Babies born thousands of miles away.
Time through an hourglass like sand.
Plenty to go around.
A mission.
Another deployment.
Very few questions asked.
Because the country asked.

We've been here before.
These set of circumstances are not unbeknownst to us.
We're a product of our environment.
The time is not of our choosing.
It is ****** upon us.
To be used to make ends meet.

This time is familiar.
The decision mirrors one made three years prior.
The calling is a product created within us.
It is our choosing.
We invited it into our lives.
It trumps selfish things, always has.
And it always will.

The weight is different though.
Time is running short.
Your life has an end in mind.
Accept the things you cannot change?
Go about the business of perfection despite the cost.
These are the decisions to be made at this time.

The empire is guilty of numerous sins.
It hasn't always acted like the emblem of justice.
More blood stains its hands than Pontius Pilate.
Interests often blind her from obvious truth.
Still, she is war ready.

Her armies and commanders of the sea stand guard.
Because every once in a while she gets it right.
She brings truth.
She brings fairness.
She brings justice.
On occasion, she can be a global symbol.

Now, red lines in the sand find themselves crossed.
The empire shakes with anger.
Loss of innocence, we cannot tolerate.
Her people will soon be on her side.
She is war ready.

Flags flown over court houses mean very little.
Star spangled banners wave helplessly in the wind.
God's blessings don't stretch from sea to shining sea.
The empire is falling.
A city on a shining hill has been beaten back.
And one thing is for sure, apathy won't rebuild here.
Citizens of rich and poor stripes concerned only with what they can get from her bounty, won't restore former glory.
Only action can do that.
Only great Americans can do that.

Blissfully unaware of the world.
Ignorant to events beyond our shore.
Mired in the problems of our lives.
Uncurious about the pain of our fellow man.
Fearful of those who don't look like us.
Just American.

No second language.
No tolerance for the different.
No excuse for entitlement.
No apology for the pain.
No need to grow.
Just American.

Just God.
Just family.
Just family friends.
Just my job.
Just American.

Just a world without justice.
Just American.

I used to feel your pride.
I felt like your prodigal son.
Now, I am unsure if I can return home.
My sins are unknown to me.
Did I fail you?
Do I mock you with my presence?
Did I commit the greatest sin of all and disappoint?

The silence hangs over me like a shadow.
Words unsaid box my mind like a prizefighter.
Phone calls never made compel me to fill the void.
Did I go too far?
Is the distance to blame?
Did I commit the greatest sin of all and disappoint?

Now, I lie in wait.
Wondering if I should be the bigger man and make the first move.
You may be oblivious to the pain.
Do you miss my voice?
Do you long for my stories?
Did I commit the greatest sin of all and disappoint?

Here are the expectations.
You all won't be held accountable to them.
Just you.
Because the rules of the game will changed midway.
Sorry, just the nature of the beast.

You will fail and so will they.
We will tell you, "we aren't keeping score."
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Oh, you started from behind anyways.
Good luck catching up.

Head down, nose to the grindstone, you'll plow on.
Goal, success. Goal, success. Goal, success.
Little praise. Fewer questions.
You can measure their interest.
It doesn't exist.

You are a disappointed son.
You've worked so hard to be anything less than disappointing.
Then you realize who you did this for.
It was never meant for them.
Cause they wouldn't understand.

On every street corner is an opportunity to fall through the gutter.
In the heart of the "City of God," human beings are sold of their innocence.
They are objects not subjects.
And we sit idly by and chalk it up to temptation; a burden for someone else to shoulder.

No one comes to the rescue.
God doesn't come down from his mount.
He isn't offering his feet for ceremonial washings.
Forgiveness falls with the weight of an old wooden cross.
And we sit idly by and chalk it up to temptation; a burden for someone else to shoulder.

On a nightly basis, the system fails.
No empathy or sympathy on display for the girls of Rio.
Those who care must rise up and offer to rescue one.
The power to change the world is not ours.
The power to change someone's world is.
We can start by putting a shoulder into the temptation.

The waves are beating against the nearest of shores.
Sand protects me from their pull.
The honking of horns is quiet now.
Hills, mountains and the mist block and surround.
Behind us all is Jesus over my shoulder.

American modesty tossed aside.
The people here were never taught to hate their bodies.
They were taught something simple; love.
Something most magazines and beauty models fail to do.
This lesson persists with Jesus over my shoulder.

The rhythm of this city is not unique.
It could be the metropolises of Europe, Asia or America.
The sheer beauty is all its own.
No comparisons exist on planet Earth.
Paradise with Jesus over my shoulder.

This place is not without obvious faults.
The poor are hidden from view with homes built in clusters.
They crowd the sides of every hill.
You cannot help to wonder if they are forgotten.
Either by the people or Jesus over my shoulder.

I set my sights on Providence.
It was time to escape my American dream.
My country was only recognizable, because of its long standing apathy and cynicism.
X-City. X-Country. You should come too.

I set my sights on Providence.
Look for a new place to welcome me home.
Changing faces, offer glimpses of hope.
X-City. X-Country. You should come too.

I set my sights on Providence.
Because I need to be delivered.
Planting my feet on solid ground uncompromised by the pull of greed.
X-City. X-Country. You should come too.

I set my sights on Providence.
Because I desire to be saved.
I am close to being corrupted.
X-City. X-Country. You should come too.

The empire has fallen.
Olympus is on bent knee.
Stars and stripes are no longer stunning.
They are littered among the ashes of American exceptionalism.

This country was to aspire to higher ideals.
Our marble columns were not to be built on the backs of injustice.
These shores were meant to welcome the little guy in us all.
Now, they are littered among the the ashes of American excpetionalism.

Falling back to earth, this place is nothing special.
Patriots stand idle.
The name of the country is being dragged through the mud.
Dirtied by the ashes of American exceptionalism.

We are the devils we always feared.
The ones we swore to protect the world from.
Now, darkened souls torment our government's door.
Riddled by the ashes of American exceptionalism.

Is there hope? Can there be change?
Can we see the error of our ways?
Is this ship too far off course?
Are we guided by half mast American exceptionalism?

Hell came in the form of wind.
Debris acted as tools of violent fury.
Lives were lost; others altered forever.
The world held its collective breath.
We are still waiting to exhale.

Soon, the papers will write other headlines.
Cameras will find other tragedies.
Magazines will need something else to print.
No fault here. It is the nature of the beast.

As they leave, the real story will begin.
Pain replaced with hope.
Loss with triumph.
Destruction with construction.
These things will be seen and unseen.
They will take a physical form and will occur in spirit.

No one will ever forget May 20, 2013.
It will be memorialized in the hearts of men.
But violence should not define this windswept town.
Those events afterward should.