"She will dance with me,"
He murmured to himself,
"If I bring her a white rose,
Pure as a snowflake,
And sweet as a summer day."

Sitting there in the garden,
His blue eyes fell shut
As the wind ran her fingers
Through his dark hair.
His lips parted in a sigh,
Enjoying the warm afternoon sun
And the thoughts of the one he loves.

"His is the song I've sung
My entire life,"
Chirped the little nightingale,
"Without knowing it,
I have told his story a thousand times
To the moon and the stars
That light the night sky.
I've sung of hope and joy
And True Love and
Happily Ever Afters
To the trees and the flowers
That in this garden grow."

But the young man cried,
"But I have no rose to give her!"
He covered his face with his hands
And cried.
His whole body shook
As the hope for real love,
The kind that many people
Spend their whole lives looking for
In all the wrong places,
Flew away in the wind.
"She'll never realize I am the one for her,
If I cannot find a white rose
And ask her to dance,"
He cried.

The little nightingale's heart was touched
By the young lover.
She cried out her song for him,
For all the lost loves in the world.
He, she determined, was not going to be one of them.
The nightingale decided that
She would find him a rose,
With which he could woo the girl he so loved.

She flew on delicate wings to the rose bush
That grew beside the fountain.
"If you would give me a pure white rose,
I will sing you my sweetest song
All the nights of my life."
But the rose bush answered,
"I have only yellow roses,
Bright as lemons and sunshine,
And sweet as springtime honey.
Ask my brother who climbs the arbor,
He may give you what you desire."

So the sweet nightingale flew to the rose vine
That was tangled on the arbor.
"If you would give me a pure white rose,
I will sing you my sweetest song
All the nights of my life."
But the rose vine replied,
"I have only pink roses,
Pink as a maiden's blush
On the day she weds her beau.
Ask my brother who grows
Under the young man's window.
He may give you what you desire."

So the nightingale flew to the rose bush
That grew under the young man's window.
"If you would give me a pure white rose,
I will sing you my sweetest song
All the nights of my life."
To which the rose bush replied,
"I have only red roses,
Dark and rich as faerie wine,
Red as the blood of your heart,
Sweeter than stolen kisses under the moon.
But I can give you a white rose."
Filled with hope and joy,
The nightingale replied,
"I will give anything for a white rose,
What must I do?"
The rose bush shook its petals sadly.
"The way is too awful.
I cannot tell you."
The nightingale knew the value of love;
She would do anything for the rose.
"There is a way, little bird.
By moonlight you must come close
And press you breast against my thorns.
Love is sharp and you must not be afraid.
You must sing your sweetest song all night,
And press closer to me,
Until my thorn pierces your heart
And all your heart-blood runs out.
It is the only way."

The nightingale thought about this.
"What price would not be paid for love?
How much greater is the love of this young man
Than the life of a little bird?
This I will gladly do,
For true love's sake."

So the nightingale flew across the garden,
Where the lover had not yet dried
The tears from his eyes.
His cheeks were stained
Pink with his sadness,
His eyes shimmered with tears yet unreleased.
She sang to him to be hopeful,
To believe in his love,
And that all will be well.
The blue-eyed young man
Smiled at the nightingale,
For her song was beautiful,
Though he did not understand.

The nightingale flew about the garden,
Enjoying the beauty of life.
She sang to the oak trees and the daffodils,
And they wept that they would not hear her song again.
They were comforted that she would be silenced for love,
For love has no price too great.

The earth ate the last rays of the sun
And the moon shone
Wan and pallid in the night sky.
She, too, was sad to hear only this one last song
From the nightingale.

Then the bird flew to the red rose bush
And pressed her breast against the thorn.
She sang her sweetest song.
It was so beautiful that all the dead lovers of the world
Shuddered in their graves
With the reminder of the love in life,
The wind joined her voice with the nightingale's
And carried her song to the ends of the the earth,
To the darkest caves where Echo returned it,
To the ocean's waves that kept the time,
To the peaceful moors where the grass danced along,
To the sleeping child to give her sweet dreams.

"Closer, closer!"
Urged the rose bush,
"I must taste your heart's blood
Before dawn,
Or the rose will not be done."

So the nightingale pressed closer still to the thorn
As the rose bush spun the most beautiful rose
It had ever spun.
But red! A red red rose it was.
"Closer still!"
Cried the rose bush,
And the nightingale pressed closer until her heart was pricked.
A bolt of pain struck the nightingale
And her song rang out through the garden,
Her melody, sweet with love and anguish,
Reached the ears of the young man.
He sat up in his bed,
And was so moved by the nightingale's song,
He stayed awake to listen.

As the nightingale's heart-blood poured onto the rose,
The reddest rose washed white as a freshly fallen snow,
Her tears mingled with the blood,
For only blood can wash out blood,
And only tears can heal.
And so the red rose became white,
As dewdrops and starlight,
As the nightingale's voice grew faint.
And she fell to the ground as the first breath of dawn
Shone gray on the horizon.

The whole garden heaved a sigh
As the nightingale's song was done.
A chorus of flowers and crickets and wind
Sang their mournful song
For the little nightingale
Who gave her life for love.

When the sun had risen in the sky,
The young man walked out into the garden
And saw the white rose.
Carefully he cut it, admiring its beauty.
He did not notice the nightingale,
Laying dead on the ground.

He gazed at the rose in awe,
And inhaled its damask perfume.
It smelled of starlight and sweet dreams,
Of mothers' lullabies and midnight kisses,
Of laughter and heartache,
Of True Love and tender death.

"This is the rose for my beloved,"
He said to himself,
And he prepared himself for the ball.

That night, when the sun had set again,
He met his fair lady, whom he so dearly loved.
"This rose is for you, so that you will dance with me."
He handed her the rose, the white rose with no thorns.
She took it gently, breathing in its scent.

"Dear boy, I will dance with you tonight."

He took her hand and led her out onto the floor.
They danced and danced
All through the evening,
More than rules of decency allow.
She smiled and laughed and fell in love.

When the evening closed
And it was time to go home,
She held the white rose close to her heart
And breathed in its sweet perfume.
Her heart was happy
And faintly, a nightingale's song
Seemed to whisper in her ear.
She grabbed the young man by the hand,
The man whom she loved.

"I will dance with you all the nights of my life,
If you so desire," she whispered.
"My darling, I desire no more," the young man smiled,
His blue eyes sparkling in the lamplight.

For love is a silly thing.
It is not half so useful as logic,
But it is twice so important.
True Love tells only things
That are the most true.
It tells of joy and comfort,
But also of sacrifice and pain.
And in this age,
Though to be practical is everything,
Love is the most important of all.

My minister said
Two Sundays ago, that
"Christmas will always disappoint."
It was jarring,
Unnerving.
A minister said such a thing?

But wait, keep listening.
You'll see it makes sense.
You'll see it's true.

The Jews were expecting
A king to overthrow the Romans.
They expected trumpets blaring,
A white horse carrying
Their savior.

They got a helpless baby
Heralded by shepherds
And the bleating of sheep,
Born of a poor peasant woman
In a poor peasant town
In a poor peasant barn
Of a poor peasant inn.
How disappointing.

We expect the family to be together
We expect love and happiness
During the Christmas season.

We did not expect
Financial troubles
Marital problems
Stress at work
College rejections
Fighting with the kids
Arguing with the parents

The tree didn't get decorated
Until December 21
The outdoor lights
Are still in boxes.
Advent was supposed to
Prepare us.
But we're not ready yet.

Christmas will always disappoint,
But the baby will not.

Christmas is a beginning.
Christmas is hope.

There is always hope in children.
They are the future.
Hope, most of all
Is in the child of God.

It is hope.
The "good part"
Is yet to come.

We plant seeds in Christmas
With the expectation of the future.
Jesus grew up,
Like babies do.
He changed the world.
He changed the individuals.

He fed the hungry
He gave sight to the blind
He comforted the beggars
He brought justice to the Temple
He taught his followers
He drove out the demons
He loved the sinners
He reached out to the outcasts

He lived with us
He walked with us
He loved us.

And we killed him.

But that wasn't going to stop the baby
The child we placed our hope in on Christmas.
He came back from the dead
And performed many miracles.

Then he left
But promised to return.
And so we wait
With the hope given to us
By a baby
On the most disappointing Christmas of all.

But he left us a gift
Not wrapped in paper and string
But fire.
He have us the Spirit
So that we'd have guidance and comfort
And we'd never be alone.
So we can act as he did.
We can feed the hungry,
We can comfort the beggars,
We can reach out to the outcasts.

And as they wait with the hope from the baby
We can give them the same gift
So they can continue the baby's work.

Christmas is disappointing
But the baby is not.
The baby is Jesus
And he gives us hope.
Of life and life beyond death
And of love for all people.
For then, for now,
And forever.

He did not wear a scarlet coat
   But still my blood runs red
All my blood was on his hands
    When they found him with the dead
The poor dead girl he hadn't loved
   And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Senior Class
   In a polo shirt of gray
No hat was placed upon his head
   But his step was light and gay
But never once did he think
   To look wistfully at the day

Never did they see him look
   With a sad or wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
   That we dreamers call the sky
And at every drifting cloud that went
   With sails of silver by

I walked with no other souls in pain
   From friendship ring to ring
And was wondering if anyone knew
   What he had done to me
When a voice behind me whispered low,
   "Is he dating her now? They're so cute together!"

Dear Christ! The very highschool walls
   Suddenly seemed to reel
And the ceiling above my head became
   Like a casque of scorching steel
And though I was a soul in pain
   My pain they did not feel

They did not know what hunted thought
   Quickened my step and why
I looked upon the garish day
   With such a wistful eye
He had killed who he said he loved
   Yet he was not who died.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
   By each let this be heard
Some do it with a bitter look
   Some with a flattering word
The coward does it with a kiss
   The brave man with a sword!

Some **** their love when they are young
   Some when they are old
Some strangle it with hands of Lust
   Some with hands of gold
The kindest use a knife because
   The dead so soon grows cold

Some love too little, some too long
   Some sell and others buy
Some do the deed with many tears
   Some without a sigh
For each man kills the thing he loves
   But this man did not die.

It was I who died a death of shame
   On a day of dark disgrace
I wore the noose around my neck
   But no cloth hid my face
They saw my pain the moment I dropped
   Into an empty place

I waste away with noisy friends
    Who gossip night and day
Who gossip when I try to weep
   And when I try to pray
Who gossip lest I should forget
   Who laughs at the end of the day

I wake at dawn each day to see
   His face across the room
I hear his words, they hit my heart,
   Like the brazen bells of doom.
And no one looks at me to see
   My pallid air of gloom.

Each day, I rise in piteous haste
   To put on convict clothes
So his foul-mouthed cohorts can gloat and note
   Each new and nerve-twitched pose
As he taps his phone with little clicks
   Like horrible hammer blows.

I know to whom he sends the texts
   The girl who caught his eye
I can't help but think, "You're beautiful."
   Was nothing but a lie.
So still I look to God above
   And heave a windy sigh.

It was he who kissed me on the lips
   And sentenced me to die
His hand held my breaking heart
   And said, "Please do not cry."
But a coward's kiss kills half as quick
   As the hand that holds the knife.

But all men **** the thing they love
   By all let this be heard
Some do it with a bitter look
   Some with a flattering word
The coward does it with a kiss
   The brave man with a sword!

Mountain peaks, city streets
More nomadic wanderings
Airplanes' flights to far away
You are gone but it all stays

Kisses goodnight and goodbye
Oceans deep and dark and wide
Singing sweet lullabies
As headlights fade into the night

Like sweet dreams that haunt your sleep
Chased away by morning rays
Broken glass glinting in the dawn
Spoiling all of our sweet dreams

Sand castles that wash away
Ocean's rapture steals them day by
Day by day by day
All gone and washed away.

Day by day by day

Traffic lights and drunken fights
The tick ticking of every clock
Spin away as the music plays
Build your castles that wash away.

Like sweet dreams that haunt your sleep
Chased away by morning rays
Broken glass glinting in the dawn
Spoiling all of our sweet dreams

Sand castles that wash away
Ocean's rapture steals them day by
Day by day by day
All gone and washed away.

Tomorrow as today

Watch the clouds passing in the sky
As we sing more lullabies
The moon and stars are oh so bright
But we forget to shine.

Day by day by day.

Sweet dreams of sand castles
As everything washes away

Day by day by day
Tomorrow just like today

I loved him.
I promise you, I did.
With what little I had,
My virtue, my art, my music,
I loved him.
I could've sworn
He loved me too.

I thought we were getting married.
I thought that
Until I saw the note,
Heard his voice.
I would never see him again,
Not as any more than
An adoring follower
That had fallen by the wayside.

I've heard stories since then.
Scandals.
Things too awful to repeat.
I can't bear to think of him that way.
Worse, to think that I loved him,
But I didn't know him.
The man I loved would never do that.

So here I am,
A lonely musician.

But I killed myself.
They say it was because I loved him so deeply
And that I couldn't bear the rejection.
That's not true though.
I killed myself so that I could be reborn.
To be a new Sibyl,
Apart from the weight
Of my regrets.
I died so that I could live.

I am Sibyl Vane.
I could be any one of you.

But truly, I am ME.
And I'm alive,
I am free.

Stu-pid. Stu-pid. Stu-pid.
Can you hear it?
stupid stupid stupid
I hear it.
The sound of my heart.
Don't you?
It seems so loud
When it's hammering
In my ears.
Don't listen.
stupidstupidstupid
I trusted them.
stu pid stu pid stu pid*
I was stupid.

When the dawn breaks
The frosty winter night,
Shattering it into
A thousand pieces,
Like glass,
The sky turns from
The deepest star-flecked
Black to a clear,
Wistful gray.
I've never seen
A more hopeful color than gray.

Right at the moment,
Close your eyes,
Hold your breath.
It's silent.

The sky that afternoon
Was a clear, bright blue.
The kind that only comes
On the purest summer days.
The wind picked up
My hair and tossed it
Across my eyes,
And I couldn't see for a moment.
The breeze was pleasant.
But with the wind,
The clouds spilled like ink
Across the sky,
Twisting it into
A disgusting yellowed gray,
Like the cold skin
Of the old and dead.
The gray was imposing,
Ominous.
I've never seen a more
Sickly color than gray.

But right at that moment,
A second before the sky
Opens up and throws
Rain and lighting
Down to earth,
Close your eyes,
Hold your breath.
It's silent.

If you are quiet,
You'll hear the silence.
It's always the sound of change.
If you are watching the sky,
Gray will always show the shift.

Close your eyes,
Hold your breath,
And don't be afraid.

I shivered in the quiet
Late winter evening
When some days feel like spring.
This was not a spring time poseur.
It was late winter
Through and through.
I wrapped my coat tighter
As I walked down the cracked sidewalk
In my old white chucks,
Jeans, and a lumpy blue sweater.

The church wasn't quiet
That Thursday evening
There was a fundraising dinner for missions
And we hadn't quite finished setting up.
The wealthy mingled
With the middle-class and the homeless.
No one knew or cared for the difference.
We were putting forks, and spoons, and knives
On the round tables
Together.

I followed the old lady in charge
As she told me to get this, get that,
Find something or another
In the chaotic decorating closet, 105.
Room one-oh-five.
That old lady is something else.
Short of stature,
But not lacking in attitude,
A penchant for wreaking havoc,
And one of the most wonderful people I know.

She was there, with her gray-blue eyes
And slow Southern drawl,
Talking to another lady.
Visibly uncomfortable,
Out of place.
Wiry black  hair,
Turning gray around her face,
Eyes fretful and brow
Creased with worry.

I hadn't seen her before.
Her name was written in
Scratchy script on a laniard
Which means that she is homeless.

I said hello, introduced myself,
And went about my work.
She worked alongside me,
As we were given tasks
In hasty preparation
For the dinner.

We worked in silence
For some time, not awkward,
Just busy.
She began to talk.
I wasn't paying close attention at first.
But I quickly realized she was telling me her story.

That's all we have, you know?
Our story is the only thing people can't take away.
They can't take away who we are,
In the narrow confines of our skull,
And whatever else there may be.

I had a hunch she was new to being homeless.
A hunch that she confirmed.
The seasoned and practiced have a look to them,
And the new have a look to them,
And you get accustomed to it
After some time.

Her husband abused her
And she couldn't take it anymore
She had two kids,
Both in a local high school.
I don't know where they are.
She doesn't know how she's going to pay for college
When she's out on the streets.
She doesn't know what to do
Where to go
How to work the system just to get by.

This is what I know:
These people I've come to love
Just want to be useful
To have a purpose.

We're all going to be big stars one day, right?
What about them?
We all want to change the world.
But we can't do it with our eyes only looking in the mirror
And our hearts cold.

We,
All of us.
Every single one of us.

I am not very good at feeling
Inward.
I can sympathize, empathize.
But when anything is turned back on me,
I can't make heads or tales of it.
So I don't know if he likes me,
A feeling that comes back to me.
I think I like him,
But I don't know what to make of that.
I sometimes don't relate well to people
Because I don't care about social politics
And that's all that seems to matter.
You may see what I write and think,
"I wouldn't like Sibyl much either,
If I knew her."
That's possible.
Likely, even.
Sibyl is basically Ophelia,
But a little better developed
And a little more tragic
And quite a bit more innocent.
She has the same role as Ophelia.
But she's an actress.
Sibyl is such an interesting character,
There's something so relatable about her.
We all sort of have a Sibyl inside of us.
That's not to say we all will **** ourselves over rejection,
I hope that isn't the case and won't happen to anyone.
But I don't know anything.
Je ne sais rien
Je ne connais rien
And that's okay.

Anyway,
I think I'd like him to know that I think he's
Really great.
For many reasons.
But I'm too scared.
Because my feelings run too deep
And I don't really understand them.

And it's like firing the cannon at the continent
And carving out the cliff
And digging the hole
And having a brick-maker when there's no need for bricks.
It all gets crazy in the heart of darkness
And nothing seems to make sense
In my mess of emotions,
Like an elaborate tangle of black yarn.

he loves me
he loves me not
he loves me
he loves me not
he loves me
he loves me not

I walked outside yesterday
And it's almost springtime.
Right on the cusp of it.
The air is sharp
In the morning.
Shiver,
Wrap your arms around you
And pretend that makes you
So much warmer.
Look both ways as you cross the street,
And realize
That you don't know anything.

Are we scared of our shadow?
Or is spring coming early this year?
does he love me?
does he not?

I pick the petals
From the flower
That was so convinced
It was spring,
That it wasn't scared
Of its shadow,
Or if it was,
It decided to be brave.

I picked the petals off
One by one
From a brave little flower

Am I scared of my shadow?
Or will I decide
That it's spring,
Time to grow and bloom?

And I drop the petals
Into the crisp breeze,
Into the car exhaust,
Into...
Where?
Springtime?

he loves me...
what?

I was looking for shoes
Tomorrow night was the ball
With twenty two dollars
And not a cent more

I dug through the pile
Of second-hand shoes
Some broken or beautiful
Or worn down with love

Behind the stilettos
Something caught my eye
Not shiny or bright
But a second-hand heart

Patched-up sewn-up
Not treated with care
But it kept right on beating
Alive but alone

With my twenty-two dollars
And not a cent more
I bought my second-hand heart
To take to the ball

Not shiny or bright
No glamorous gleam
But it was my new heart
And it needed me

So I took my new heart
On the night of the ball
I didn't have shoes
But my heart mattered more

Scowls, sneers, and smirks
Greeted me at the door
They all picked and poked
At my second-hand heart

It was patched-up,  sewn-up
But beautifully mine
But no one could see
Past the scratches and grime

So I ran away
Fast into the night
As twelve tolls of the clock
Told me the time

When I finally stopped
And my tears caught up
I realized my heart
Was no longer mine

I screamed and I wailed
For my second-hand heart
Though patched-up, sewn-up
It had to be mine

Somewhere I'd lost it
It was abandoned again
All my screaming and wailing
Could not bring it back

But day after day
I missed my heart
Maybe someone had found it
And made it their own

Day after day
I have to hope
That my second-hand heart
Has found a new home

Someone must love it
And treat it with care
Because it was beautiful
Even patched-up, sewn up

My second-hand heart

Fog across the pathway
Ahead and behind me
I wipe sleep from my eyes
And shiver in the sharp
Chill of the gray morning.
Looking behind me
I can't tell if I came that way
It's vague like a dream
That slips away
Like leaves in
The sad autumn wind
When you wake up
To the real world
Seeing his face
And it's as unfamiliar
As the pathway behind me
And the pathway ahead
Is just as veiled.
Every step forward is a chance
Sometimes I can't tell
It might be a step back
But I'll take my chances in the fog
Until day breaks in full
And the sun burns the haze
Until I can see clearly
In every direction.

Stretch out that moment
Till it lasts forev...
For just that moment
And not a breath more
Not a wink
Nor a blink
The bat of an eye,
I see you,
You and I.

No I don't.
You were never
Are never
Can never be
Where?
Here?
Anywhere but here?

Maybe I'm just blind,
Too busy
Too focused
Too distracted
Head in the clouds
Feet on the ground
Stretched too far.

And there I'll go
When gravity has spent
Enough time on me
And I'll just float away

Hey,
Can I talk to you?
Can I tell you what I think?
Can I tell you how I feel?
No.

Yes,
I'll listen.
Because I care.
About you.
What you think.
How you feel.

Hey. Hey you.
Do you care about me?

Climb the branches of the forbidden tree
Take its fruit and eat.
Its poison is knowledge
Its flavor is freedom.
In knowledge there is liberation
But also enslavement.
In knowledge, we cannot hide
Cannot be free.
The knowledge of good and evil
Binds us to itself in chains of guilt and shame.

Some people dream
That they're naked in a crowd
They dream of having
All the private things bared
No secrets left to keep

Some people dream
That they're are flying with the birds
They dream that nothing
Can tie them to the ground
Nothing holding them back

Some people dream
That they're running from something
They dream that they're being chased
By the see or unseen
By the unknown threat

But I dream
That I'll have a future
All the stories that haven't happened yet
All the might-be's
And the beautiful possibilities.

Truth is the most powerful thing
Truth has the power
To free and to enslave
To build and to break.
Truth makes all men equal
By making them all slaves
By taking away the falsehoods
That create worlds far away,
Separate from dismal reality

I want to build a house
So that I can be somewhere
That isn't broken
I want to have windows and doors
With locks and keys
To keep me from them
And them from me

I want to build a house
With color and light
So that rainy days are not sad
I want a roof overhead
To keep the sky from peering in
To keep it out
To keep me in

I want to build a house
So I can hide from the wind
Because it tears away warmth
I want a fireplace and chimney
To keep me warm
And let Christmas in

I want to build a house
That can be strong when I'm not
Bones can break but houses do not

Butterfly
O sweet butterfly
How lovely
How beautiful
How magnificent you are!
It's so marvelous
So extraordinary!
How you so
Mysteriously transform.

O lowly caterpillar,
Do you know
What you shall be?
Do you know the wonders
That await you,
Dear caterpillar,
Do you see?
Do you see the butterfly
So divine!
So sweet!
That you shall become?

My butterfly,
Precious butterfly,
You lay pierced though
By a pin
So that I may observe
Your delicacy
Your beauty
Your grace
(And wings that
Never shall flutter again)

I swear I saw him today,
Saw the back of his head,
Saw his clumsy walk,
Saw his stupid jacket.
I swear I saw him.

I swear I heard him today,
Heard about the prettier girls,
Heard about the girls he'd rather sleep with,
Heard about what he'd do with them.
I swear I heard him.

Different hair,
Different walk,
Different jacket,
But the same words.

I should have listened the first time.

Be careful.
Not everyone you meet is good.
But there's a way you can tell
A way that always shows a person true
No matter how good they seem.
Apples grow from apple trees.
You'll never see an orange
Growing from an apple tree.
You know an apple tree
Because it has apples.
You know a good person
Because of the good that comes with them.
There ain't never gonna be a bad person
That has real good come with 'em.
No matter just how good
They say and seem.

So be careful.
I learned the hard way.
Learn now.
I don't want to see you here
On the streets
Like me.

And when I am there
Sprawled out upon my pin
How do I begin
To show my beauty
Show my grace?
I cannot fly
Cannot flutter
My richly patterned wings.
I have no voice to speak
To cry
To scream.

I am being examined here
Stabbed straight through
Mounted on a pin.

I cannot explain
Cannot justify myself.

Stars falling from the sky
Coming down like fireflies
Catch them, keep them, hold them tight
Don't let them fly away tonight

Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are.

What can come from those that say
The words that stay close day by day
But heavy burdens on my heart lay
And graceless sorrows and

twinkle
twinkle
little
star

where are you

Can I sing
You a song
From my heart?

It leaks from
My soul like
Gasoline on
A quiet starry night.

Spark.

It all explodes.

A wish, a promise
That could last forever
A spark spiraling up
From the fire
Winked out
In the smoke
In the night

Brick by brick
They build houses
One beam nailed
To another
Take one out
It doesn't fall down
Take another
And another
Huff and puff
And there's nothing left
Than a pile
Of Could've-Beens

A crack in the glass
And the whole window
Breaks
Crack in the ice
And I fall
Right through

Let me tell you
About pride.
Let me tell you
About low self-esteem.

They go together
Hand in hand
Because we'll never be
Good enough for ourselves.

Are you?
I know I'm not.

But I don't want
You to know that.
So I put on that front
To make you all think
I'm great
And I start to believe it myself
But life has a way
Of making us fall on our face
Right at that moment.

So I'm not so great.
Not even good enough.

I just thought you should know.

You're here
I'm here
Writing about our
Thoughts
and
Feelings

Like they matter.

I mean,
obviously
We think they matter
Or we wouldn't bother sharing

Even if we say
That we're just venting.

Let's face it--
it matters.

We have all these important things to say
But we just say them to each other
Here
To we the people
Who already know
And understand.

You, out there.
Where you are
I've been there.
Most people here
Can say that.

Why tell me?

Tell everyone else.
They need to hear it

We all have our stories.
If we open up
And share and listen
And care.

It might be a little bit
More okay.

It rained.
My legs stick to the rock wall
Where I'm sitting.
It's humid.

It's sunny.
I take a deep breath and relax
And feel the warmth.
It's hot.

It's breezy.
My hair tickles my nose
Where the wind has tossed it.
It's cool.

It's sprinkling.
I shiver where a drop
Slips slowly down my back.
It's wet.

It's pouring.
Water streams though my hair
And down my face.
It's chilly.

It's cloudy.
The rain lifts off of me
In great clouds of steam.
It's humid.

It's sunny.
My hair drips water onto my face
But I'm dry.
It's hot.

Like summer rain,
My tears flow
Hot, fat drops
Down the planes of my cheeks
Trembling with the weight
Of my despair.

I have found
That it is not what it seems.
Nothing is or ever was
And never will be.
I walk down
This tightrope line
Trying to unearth
The truth in my desire
The pain in your eyes,
Reflections of my own.

Like a summer rain,
You're there
Then gone.
Unpredictable,
Frustratingly so.
Unreliable.
I wonder if
You were ever even there.

I wish there was someone
To find me in my darkness.
I want most of all
For that someone
To be you.

Like a summer rain
To extinguish the flames
Scorching my mind.
I need you there
To wash the tears from my eyes.
To break the fever
One more time.

There is no respite
From this disease.
You only make me numb.
I just want to feel again.
To live again.

Like a summer rain,
You're falling all around me
Drowning me in blue.

Job made God mad.
Go check it out.
Chapters 38-41
Of the Book of Job.
Job was praying to God, but
Challenging His wisdom and justice,
Demanding an explanation.
So God said,
"Brace yourself like a man;
I will question you,
And you shall answer me."
And God asked Job
If he was there
When the earth was formed,
If he could send lightning bolts
On their way,
If he could give orders to the morning
Or show dawn its place.
And things like that.

Job couldn't do anything.

At first, I was distracted by God's anger.
It took me a minute to see the point.

Now flip to Ecclesiastes 3:11.
This is what it says,
"He has made everything beautiful
in its time.
He has also set eternity
in the hearts of men,
Yet none can fathom what God has done
from beginning to end."

That makes it make more sense,
don't you think?
God's telling Job
that He is all-knowing,
infinitely wise and powerful.
And wholly Good.
Job can't understand the greater picture.
In our ignorance,
we get angry at God.
And can you blame God
For getting a little frustrated?
He has a perfect and good plan,
There is a reason for everything.
We just don't understand
In our finitude.
So we get angry
When God is really being Good,
And we just can't see it.

God told Job to
Trust Him.
Look at all I've done!
Look at my goodness,
My power,
My wisdom.
If you can understand all of these things,
If you can do all of these things,
You will understand my ways.

But we cannot.

That's faith.
Not a leap in the dark.
A decision to trust the Most High,
Based on knowledge.
But passing from knowledge
To the things that we cannot know,
Like the greater plan that God has for us.

It's just hard sometimes.

Would I wait forever
For a kiss?
Would I wait forever
For a smile?
Would I wait forever
For a laugh?
Would I wait forever
For you?

Who are you?

Wait.
Turn around.
Look back.

Me.

Go.
Run away.
Eyes ahead.

Them.

Stop.
Don't move.
Not a word.

Us.

Love me,
You.
Out there.
Here.
You.
You,
Where you are
Where I am
The space in between
Life and dreams
And cold reality.

Walk with me
    so I can tell you my story
  how all the people
who come to my house
         and i listen to their lives
all their fears and failures
   and their secrets
they all stop at me
       to tell me
what people don't see
    why me
what people never see
            i'm just like all of you
       but i'll keep your secrets
   but you didn't ask me to
     because they're not mine to give away
you trusted me with yourself
    and i'll honor that
you know i will
you didn't have to ask
  so you didn't
but who do i talk to
anyone
no one
are you there?
no
but i talk to you
more than anyone else
because you listen
and i don't know why

Some people smile
Some people cry
But we're all the same inside

Some people sleep
Some people drink
But we all still have bad dreams

Some people laugh
Some people pray
But we all will find our way

Some people fight
Some people lie
But we all can't sleep at night

Some people

Some

People

None of us are the same,
We don't all find our way,
Some sleep with sweet dreams,
But not everyone.

It's a silly lie.