I wonder what Jesus would say,
If he found out today,
That the cross, where he hung, torn and bruised,
Has become our most sacred jewel.

Would he gaze at the wood with surprise,
See his pain in our reverent eyes?
Would he question the meaning we found,
In a tool meant to press him down?

The nails that pierced through his skin,
The crown that dug deep within.
A death we immortalize in form,
But forget it was born in the storm.

I wonder, would he smile or weep,
At this symbol we carry so deep.
And ask if we’ve missed the point,
Where flesh met iron, and faith disjoint?

Would he ask why we cling so tight,
To the image of his final night?
Why we exalt the end of his breath,
And make a monument of death?

Is this the legacy he would choose—
A symbol of all that he’d lose?
Does eternity shrink or expand,
With a cross gripped in every hand?

I wonder if he’d feel estranged,
From the meaning we’ve rearranged—
To worship the gallows, the nails, the pain,
And not the life that rose again.

At fifteen, the reaper came, silent in the night,
Stealing me from youth's warm, calming delight.
****** into a world where heartbreak resides,
Where innocence withers and hope slowly dies.

No more laughter, just echoes of pain,
Sorrow's lament, a relentless refrain.
Gone are the dreams that once danced in our sight,
Replaced by storm clouds, obscuring the light.

Now, I linger by your grave,
With flowers wilted, their colors all grey.
I mourn the loss of innocence, the childhood's decay,
In the quiet, I kneel, with so much left to say.

Grief marks the end of youth, a bitter pill to swallow,
and builds a home for loneliness to wallow.

Beneath the canvas of the starlit sky,
A beacon burns, a lullaby.
Through shadows cast, a tale unfolds,
Of a love more precious than gold.

In shadows interlaced, the glow would sing,
A celestial whisper, a familiar wing.
I'd stray at times, chasing the day's fleeting gleam,
Questioning the light, like a forgotten dream.

Resentment clung to the flickering light,
As if returning home was a surrender to night.
In my heart, a whisper of pride,
Home meant I hadn't soared wide.

Through the years, the light reframes,
No longer a symbol of forgotten aims.
Like moth to a flame, I’d circle back,
To a hearth that murmured, a quiet track.

Now, the light's not a sign, not a line in the sand,
But a soft place to land, in an unknown land.
A sanctuary, a heartbeat, a welcoming roam,
In the cadence of shadows, I find my home.

The door swings wide with a creak and a sigh,
A refuge awaits, where tears can dry.
So, as I wander life's unknown,
The light guides me back, a beacon of home.

I envy the faithful

Those who have a sense of belonging
Those who believe there is meaning and
trust there is no end to this life.

I envy the warmth

Those who feel secure within this world
Those who fear nothing and have everything
planned out for them.

I envy the idea

That there is some cosmic parent
Watching over, loving unconditionally, and
wrapping their believers in a soft, wool blanket.

And there are moments
When I can no longer endure my own existence
Where I hope and I pray and I bargain and I wish
to any greater entity that might hear my whispers in the night

Please just make the pain stop.

There's nothing warm or cozy about contemplating
your own meaningless oblivion,
or realizing you will never again see your dead
friends, family, or pets in a land filled with milk and honey.

I have no comfort in believing
I am special in some cosmic way
I am nothing, you are nothing
sinner, saint, priest, or atheist – we all just become food for the worms.

You linger like a ghost
between the lyrics I can't stop listening to,
Like that black dress I refuse to get rid of
covered in cobwebs and dust from the darkest part of my heart.

I'm so haunted by the mistakes I've made
these memories bury me in a graveyard of pain,
It'd be healthier, I know, if I'd just let this all go
but I'll just have to reap what I've sowed.

And though my hands shake and my forearms ache
the pain helps me understand the worth in it

It has to be worth it.

Or what's the point of surviving this ****?