as you lay in the mountain pass
breaths in heavy, choking gasps
trees bleeding
restless, reckless head throbbing
tell me


who did you see?

Some days I can't write
I won't write. takes
too much heart
too much sacrifice
too much sorting through places of  my mind
I swore I'd let alone, leave be

let me be
leave me be
alone

then,
no.
Fight. Alone is dangerous

alone is an open door
alone is locking yourself in with a dragon
so I will pick up first,
my heart
then my courage
then my fingers

though cut up
and open
bleeding rivers

I will then pick up my pen
and write.

there is still so much more I need to tell you.

she’s not allowed to care anymore
but she can’t help the dent
that became a valley
before she was able to recognize and trace
every sharp edge and every flat surface
every sudden drop and slow crack
with her fingertips, covering
it will take time
but the real question is
will
she
try?

Somewhere stuck between the line bordering
faith and reality,
there is a girl.

A girl to whom
there is no such thing
as five thirty in the morning.
There are only beginnings,
fresh grass, and
mugs of hot chocolate.
She doesn’t seem to know
what it means to drag your feet
or to
lifelessly slide your toothbrush’s bristles
against the cracks and crevices of your teeth,
wishing you were already at the end of the day
when it had only just begun.

To her,
every printed word is spoken.
She can hear the pages breathe and her heart sings whenever
another character enters,
because for her it means
one more person
to love
which is something
she never seems to run out of.

It is why her eyes dance
and roses grow ‘round her face,
it is why gladness
pours out from her fingers as they
glide across ivory keys,
it is why she sprinkles her words with salt,
why she refuses to let her city on a hill grow dim,
why she believes that death
is a new beginning,
why her hope never wavers,
why she won’t stop giving and
giving and
giving.

Her faith shakes mountains, but sometimes,
only the mountains know it because she
gets frustrated, too.
I’m here to tell her that she
may not see it now,
but the seeds have been growing in places
she didn’t think possible.

So continue to plant them
with thrill and with wonder,
as you live each day like
it was the first.
Don’t stop the water’s flow,
and soon you will find yourself
laughing at Doubt’s face,
I don’t think you’ve ever seen
Doubt’s face.

You’ve been alive
for three hundred
and sixty five days more,
but if growing up means
losing the fireworks in your eyes
and the beautiful thoughts
that sprout from your mind
then,
I beg of you,

don’t.

Beloved,
lay down your arms, and
come run back into Mine instead.
There is no need for you
to fight this battle on your own, when
I’m here, and

I love you.

Before the kingdoms and golden cities,
before the earthquakes and the hailstorms,
before the stars knew their hymns
and the planets their dance,
I loved you.

Beloved,
I made you
to love you.

Let that sink in and resonate in your heart
like a steady, low drum.
I made you
to love you.
I made you
to love you.
I made you
to love you,
because

What good is the universe
in all its splendor and colors
to which names have not yet been given,
what good are the heavens and the seas,
the skyscraping mountains and lowest valleys,
what good is anything in all creation that was and will be
if you
are not there
for Me
to love?

So I formed you.
I patterned your image after Mine,
I took dust and spoke life
to create a beautiful, beautiful you, and the
reason you love is because
I first loved you.
Love is what stitched you together, beloved,
and that Love
runs deeper than any ocean or river, because even
on that worst day,
the day you fell,
the day you told me that
My love wasn’t good enough
that I
wasn’t good enough,
I loved you.
I never left your side even
when you were in sun scorched lands
and your hands
were bleeding from the fruitless labor of
trying to get
to where I am,
you never had to earn my affection or my
consideration, I was
thinking of you
the entire
time, because for Me,
Heaven
wouldn’t be heaven
without you in it.

So I came.
I pursued you
even if it meant watching My beloved
scream false accusations and spitting lies
at My face
even if it meant having nails and thorns
driven into My flesh
even if it meant facing death, but
I overcame it
for you
I took the blame
for you
I carried all the crosses you have and will ever carry
for you
I tore the veil and shook the earth
for you, because I
love
you.

Beloved,
My love
is stronger
than anything
you will ever encounter, and
this is the same Love that
courses through your veins, and so the same
strength that enables you
to receive power
to receive healing
to receive victory in My name.

Beloved,
fear not.

Don’t call me that.

You--

Don’t deserve anything.
Are worthless.
Impure.
Weak.
Everything I put my hand to is kissed by death,
I was meant for no more but failure.
I can’t do anything.
I can’t do.
I can’t.
I--

Lies.
I crucified all that.
You are--

still the same and always will be!
Despite what You did
I keep going back
back
back
My love for You is like
the morning mist,
like flowers that soon wither,
like shores that always,
no matter how strong the tide,
push the waves away,
and I am ashamed.
I am only man.

And I am God.

But—

I am God.

But—

I am God.

Beloved,
take life and death
angels and demons
the present and the future
the highest of heights and the darkest of depths
take every power and everything else you could possibly imagine,
and they still wouldn’t be
even close to a fraction enough to separating you
from My love.

You are right.
You don’t deserve it,
but I love you anyway.
Since the beginning of time,
all you’ve done is pursue everyone and
everything else but Me,
but I love you anyway.
You’ve done nothing but fall short,
but My love carries you past that, beloved.
You are Mine.
Let Me be yours.

You are Mine. I am Yours.
I am yours. You are mine.
You are chosen. I am chosen.
You are My child. I am Your child.
I will never leave you. You will never leave me.
My love for you knows no end. Your love for me knows no end.
Heaven and earth will pass away but, Heaven and earth will pass away but,
I will stay the same. You will stay the same.

Beloved,
why
are you so
afraid?

I’m not anymore.

I have overcome. You have overcome.
You have overcome. I have overcome.
The war has already been won. The war has already been won.

I love you. I love You.
I love you. I love You.
I love you. *I love You.

do not let the
      scorching and searing
                                    the
      burning and blistering


                      the
           slow sawing and
                      the
           bough breaking

          
                      turn your roots
                
                                   upward,
away from the
                                   waters.

Have you seen this girl?
Description?
Here.

She
is an acid-wash-jeans-and-
black-boots-wearing,
leather-bracelets-with-­flannel-flying kind of girl,
the kind of girl who would rather speak
only if spoken to,
because she prefers to tell her stories through
tubes of watercolors and reluctant poetry,
and her look,
she’s heard this a lot of times, can be quite the
back-off-you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me kind, but
once you’ve jumped that hurdle, the rest comes easy.

Gold
must be stuck in between her teeth,
because every word she says is wrapped in wisdom
******* together with strings of grace, and
sprinkled with good intentions for good
measure
the length of her hair
and you will find that there are still
so much more stories woven
into the strands, you
will see galaxies in her eyes
paintings on her lips
and there are flowers blooming on the tips of her fingers,
try telling her this.
She will blush,
or she will laugh, and you will wonder
if the broken pieces of mirror on the floor
were really just an accident.

But roses have thorns, too.
Some days are thunderstorms,
and there are times when
lightning does strike the same place twice,
and she’s had a lot of those days.
Maybe she’s gotten used to
having her hands burnt from
trying to heal the earth where
it was struck, and
despite the countless times she’s
tried to wash her hands,
she still can’t get rid of the smell.
One day she’ll see that there
is new skin growing from her old wounds.

Other days her lines
just won’t draw straight,
and the blues and yellows
seem to have confused themselves
for greens and reds, and she
forgets that she is being shaped
by someone else, that
she is a work in progress
and that her cracks are being mended,
being molded,
she only has to allow it
to begin.
She’s been building walls,
but it’s time
to tear them
down.

When you see this girl,
tell her not to be so ******* herself.
Tell her
that she is more loved
than she thinks she is,
that inside her coals
are diamonds
tell her to stop worrying
to stop thinking that she
doesn’t deserve anything, well,
she doesn’t, but
remind her of grace.
Remind her that she
is worth dying for, that
even before she was formed, blood
was spilled so that one day
she’d learn how to smile,
how to cross canyons
on an invisible tightrope,
how to hope.
Tell her not to forget that.

So, have you
seen this girl?

Description?

Here.

Take a good,
long look



in the mirror.

It starts
with a warmth, like
fingers spreading thick in my belly
slowly making its way up, up, up
tickling my throat and
warming every inch of this body until
there’s nothing I can do to stop
my lips from parting
my hands from raising
my feet from dancing

How beautiful You are.

Joy.
I feel it radiate, it seems to
vibrate from a well that’s deeper
than I’ve ever known
leaving me without words
and when I find them, they
dance.
The words
dance.
And I feel fire.
My heart swells,
and my bones breathe.
So this
is what it means
to be in love.
And I am so
in love.

How beautiful You are.

Here
I
am.
Walls torn down
pride crumbling
dry and broken
but I know
You’ll still draw me in, so here
I am
standing stunned at…
How do I begin to describe You?
You
whose lips burst forth light
and carved out mountains with precision
set the earth’s cornerstone in position
shut snowstorms in their storehouses
fastened galaxies in their places
You who
breathed out
morning stars.

How beautiful You are.

The sun sets, sinking
in colors of warm honey and
tangerine
I feel You smiling down
on me, and You whisper,
“Child, this one’s for you.”

How beautiful You are.

And my mind just can’t wrap itself around You
and how You
command the clouds to roll like the sea
guiding lightning as it strikes soft earth
and how You
are so much bigger
than I could ever understand
but still are mindful
of man, how
great You are in
perfect faithfulness.

There is no end
to Your love, and if I
were to live and die
a thousand times, and if
the heavens fell
and the seas swallowed up the earth
and the sun stopped rising in the east
and the birds ceased their morning songs
still Your love would
endure
And Your grace
which goes beyond my shame,
I’ve run out of similes and metaphors
to describe how vast
and amazing is this grace
You have that never seems to
run dry no matter how far I run
no matter how hard I fall
no matter how stone-like my heart’s become
Your grace carries me
telling me I’m still Yours.
And I
am forever Yours.

How beautiful You are.

Savior,
Your heart bled at the sight of us
longing for a way to close the gap
millenniums of our pitiful good works
couldn’t close.
Merciful,
in promising to never again
wipe out the face of the earth despite our
stubborn souls sinning the same sins,
saying sorry while we slipped
blood money into our back pockets, we
don’t
deserve
anything.
Yet You
gave
Your
everything.

Overcomer,
Death itself couldn’t keep You prisoner
I still can’t imagine how
Someone like You would
willingly lay His life down
for someone
like me, and I fall to my knees
remembering how
on the cross You
crucified my sins
in the grave You
buried my past
at last
we are free
we are redeemed
we are Your children,
chosen and forgiven
waiting until You
come again.

And if I come to You
before You come to me
and I’ll be running
finally
straight into Your arms,
I don’t know if I’ll even have the
breath to say,

“How beautiful
You are.”

I took it and
swallowed my aches down with
three cubes of sugary smiles while
digging up six feet of dirt
shoving it in without a proper funeral, but
now it's come back.

it's nearer than we think.
we swear under our breaths
and see blisters before they form, but
we just need to pick our feet up
and start
walking.

she carries herself as if
she is made of coal
but when she
picks up her pen, she
vomits diamonds, but
they don't shine bright enough for her to see.

the sun didn't rise today.
it kissed the earth,
warm and slow
casting a soft tangerine
on the rice fields, while
woodland songs hummed and
grandmothers slept.

waking up is a beautiful thing.

all your mistakes are now mine, all
your mistakes are now mine, all your
mistakes are now mine, all your mistakes
are now mine, all your mistakes are
now mine, all your mistakes are now
mine, all your mistakes are now mine

all
your mistakes
are now

**mine.

sometimes you need to
see the world as if
you're waking up for the
      f
i         r
s
                     t


time.

this morning I realized
how much I
ex
hale
breathing                                          o   ­     u         t
everything my tongue biting hides.

maybe I should start writing my mind.

we talk of
      not so faraway lands

and feet that won't keep still.

                          
                        apparently i'm
more like you than you'd like.

              always wondering and
                       always wandering.


but my heart will always be

                here.

let me be the
wet fleece on
dry ground, may I
hear the sound
of jars breaking

soon.

you haven't changed.

i've no right to say that,
we've only just met, but

you haven't changed.

If you’re looking for a King,
you’ve come to the wrong place.
A warrior on a white horse or a
ruler robed in silk isn’t the face
He took when He
came down, if
you’re looking for a King, you’ll find an
empty throne and an
empty crown, because the King
stepped down, He
didn’t announce His coming with
a thousand trumpets blasting or
multitudes of angels to
show off His splendor, no, He
came in peace, He
came clothed in humility and became
a baby.

If you’re looking for a baby,
you won’t find him here,
The King came as a child
showing His people that He is
flesh and blood, too
He’s had the same hurts as you
but now the manger is empty
because the baby
grew up to become
the Messiah

came
and the Messiah went on to
fulfill the will He was sent here for
to bind up the brokenhearted
to take up our burdens
to be an instrument of mercy and
the love of the Father
unlike any other, to tell us that
the time had come for a fresh faith
in the One who holds the stars.
And so the donkey stands with no rider,
for Messiah took the cup
and became our Savior

crawled with death scraping His shoulders,
hissing triumphantly into His ear while
the very people He gave life to spat at Him
denied Him
tore the flesh off His back
hung Him naked on a cross, his hands red with
every sin He never committed, and He cried out
as His Father turned His face
away
from Him.
But the veil was torn and our sins
thrown to the farthest ends, and now
that cross stands empty.

They sealed his body in stone, seething,
“Where
is your Savior now?”
and the land was wrapped in darkness
and hope was burnt out, but
three sunrises later, the earth trembled
and heaven wasn’t the only place that opened
that day.
The body went missing and the
empty tomb
changed
everything.

Jesus rose over
every sickness
every hurt, every pain
He took our shame and
wiped our slate clean, there is
salvation in His name, there is
redemption in His name, there is
freedom in His name, Death had
no victory and no sting that day because
there is nothing
that can separate us from the love
that is the Father’s, who watched His son suffer
paying our debt, so that one day we may
receive what is His and be with Him
again, we are now
sons and we are now
daughters, no need for
sacrifices and meaningless prayers
come
as
you are, sinner, and let His blood
wash your past away, He
is alive.
So when doubt comes creeping closer
saying, “Where is your Savior?”
Look it in the eye and proclaim,
“He is risen!”
“He
is risen!”

If I tell you I love you,
what then?

As much as I'd like to
play with the stardust in your hair
and dance under moonbeams
to our favorite song on repeat,
I know that these are merely dreams.
They will crumble into the
harsh reality of daisies trying to
bloom during the frost
as soon as I grasp them in my palms.

Poets write of forevers and somedays,
but I know that as of this moment, this
will absolutely not
last forever and that someday
is not a day of the week, I'm
doing you a favor, sweetheart.
I've seen the aftermath of too many heartbreaks
and spent too much on buying
boxes of Kleenex for my friends to
even want you.

Whisper all the sweet things you can,
make promises of cottages and
chestnut colored horses, but
we are young and
we are fools.
These hearts are too precious to waste on
someone we can't count on to be there
through the thunderstorms and electricity bills.
We aren't ready for this and
you
know it.

I am saving all
for one day giving all
away, but not yet.
It could be you
it might be you
maybe.
Someday.
Forever?

Maybe someday we'll be forever,
but not today.
If it's you, then

it's you who will be holding my heart delicately
in your palms and it will be
whole.
And you will thank me, because

if I tell you I love you,
(now)
what then?

They'll think the scars on our wrists are
tattoos, and
they wouldn't be wrong.

They wouldn't be wrong.

I tried missing you and wondered why
I healed so quickly.
Then six o'clock struck and I realized
how
wrong
I
was.

****
it
up.

I don't know if I'm too
focused on getting there
or how I'm getting there, but
I know that I
I should be
focused on
You

There's something I need to get off my chest, Liz. Something I've been keeping from you for years. I was cleaning out my closet the other day, and I realized something. The painful thing about phone calls is that every sleepy groan could have been heard clearly if I were with him, and every word he spoke only to me could have been whispered into my collarbone. But what really infuriates me... is that the first person who got to love him didn't stay. Love is staying.

You have no idea how long I've stayed.

"What I'm trying to say is..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm in love with..."

Me?

"Her."

"Oh."

You see, the honest truth is that you're perfect for each other and that I wanted this to happen. When I watch how he lightly touches the small of your back as if he's afraid you'll shatter if he holds you too hard, and how your fingers comb his past out of his hair when you run them through gently, I wonder if your hearts are actually one but were separated at birth. I don't know, I might be lying, but I don't think I am. I don't think I am. All I know is that he was always yours and never mine---I don't know why I hold on, because you're everything he needs. But somehow, so am I.

Loving him and watching him love you has gotten me nowhere except everywhere I never wanted to be. I don't hate you for this. Really. All I ever wanted was for both of you to know what it feels like to have wings on your ankles and morning songs on your earlobes, because that's how I feel when he asks me to help him make playlists for you. I just imagine he's making them for me.

So instead of poisoning myself with hate, I'll teach you how to love him better. I need you to love him better.

Sing him to sleep and sing him awake. There is nothing he wants more than to rise and drift off knowing that he'll be safe in the voice of someone he loves. Sing him songs about mountains. He'll love that.

Bike to the riverside with him and bring nothing with you but a hand-stitched quilt a pen. Find a spot where the wind never stops dancing. Write stories on the leaves and the trees so that he'll know that he has a place to call home after you. You can name that spot if you want, but I know he'll name it after your favorite flower.

When he cries and his past comes creeping in, clutching his throat and burning his chest, don't say anything. Just hold him. Hold him and hold him. Wait until he's stopped shaking then, with your nose buried in his hair, whisper, "I still love you."

Maybe I should write all of this down, seal it in a mint green envelope, and mail it to myself. Then I'll read it out loud and will probably be crying my heart out but at least I'll be stronger.

But don't worry, I won't say anything to him, because I care about you, too. So I'll stay still. Even though I'd like to take a bus to his house right now and leave a post card under his front door with a poem saying that I've loved him a long time. Longer than I should have. But I won't.

Because I know that he doesn't have the strength to catch me.

isang sundalo
gitara ang sandata
laban sa mga sigaw ng mga
multong
galing sa gubat ng
pagtataksil

today there was nothing on the table
cutlery, yes
plates, yes
my mug with handpainted rabbits, yes
but today there was nothing on the table.
in your haste to impress the
distinguished guest, don't forget
the need to exhale.

it's not safe where you're going, I
whisper to the pregnant woman carrying her
grocery bags walking
towards the railways, she
probably knows, but
she probably doesn't, and if she doesn't, how would she?

the ones who know never speak up.

contrary to popular belief,
I realized I missed you when
we were finally right beside each other
giggling over Oliver Wood and
Ron's stubby nose.
I don't want to leave you again, but
I'd be lying if I said I'd stay forever.

Forgive me.

I missed this morning, I
had forgotten to bring along
extra fuel to keep me going, I
hope it never slips your mind to
retreat sometimes because everybody needs
something
to keep them
moving.

You keep me moving.

I'm halfway
out of the door, but
please don't
close it
just yet.

I've been
waiting seven centuries for you to
meet me halfway
keeping a close eye on the movements of the planets when
all I had to do was to
spin a hundred and eighty degrees.

today you told me you loved the rain
and that the
way they raced down the tip of your nose and
tasted on your tongue
lit up your eyes.

why are you still wearing a raincoat?

maybe we've
all gone through the
exact same things only yours
was measured in cups while
mine was a teaspoon and a half.
I still have the right to feel.

I came to you carrying baggage someone of my stature shouldn't be even touching; I thought here I'd get to used to my burdens and forget that the yoke on my shoulders was causing my ribs to close so tight around my heart that I'd find myself gasping for air sometimes, but I was wrong.

2. Here, I found my resting place. Here I learned to lay my head down on fields of green next to still streams and sing the song of revival with my feet wrapped in peace.

3. I thought I knew how to show love by injecting smiles into my system and lightly bandaging the broken, but it turns out that sincerity is a necessity, and what's in always comes out; and I had to learn to cut some roots, break the topsoil and allow the planting to begin. I hope you see seedlings from where you are.

4. Humble myself, humble myself, less of me, less of me. I thought that humility was pouring lies into a cup, toasting to their victory and my defeat, tasting the words on my tongue before allowing them to settle in my stomach where the poison would spread, paralyzing everything I can and could have become.

5. I've seen the way you love. You love with your eyes, with your smile, with the way you tap my shoulder, with the way you speak; your words are an overflow from a well of life, and I want to have that too, but I know the digging must take place. The digging is taking place.

6. I'm under construction undergoing renovation, but it's okay because I came here gagging on my poison, but I'm leaving with the antidote.

7. You never would have guessed by the way I took control that under that calm smile spelling "I got this", I was terrified of letting you down. I decided I wouldn't, so I tried to force flow water into my dry branches even though I knew it was time to cut them off.

8. I could smell change coming before the season began, so I braced myself and tried to direct the sun's rays elsewhere. By the time they hit, I realized that I can't choose where the sun will rise and set, or which sky the eagles will command or how bright the stars will glow. I am the tree, not the tree planter.

9. The sawing is painful, but the fruit I bear will last me a lifetime. So I watch my branches burn with hope, knowing that the seeds I drop will grow. You thought the heat would make me shrivel, but they only pushed my roots deeper into the ground.

10. Another door opened, another door closed. I hope we one day open the same one.

today I learned that
ships don't sail in if you're
not ready for them.
I'm sorry for leaving you behind.

almond croissant washed down with a
cold cup of water and thoughts
wandering wondering what's

beyond

I've got a ring
a string
of keys on the table
I've got
gold keys and black keys
silver keys and rusty keys
round keys and square keys
I've got
everything I know I need
I thought I need
I think I need?
I've got
every key which I got
through every, any
means, but
why won't your heart open to any of these?

I want to hear
the rush of angels and
hearts beating fast to the sound of
redemption and revival, know that

there is a so that you can
attached to every do not
it's just that no one stayed long enough
for the sentence to finish. See how

glory is piercing the witching hour, so
come, restless ones,
lie by the streams and drift into
the song of lions and new wineskins.

There is a rising.
A rising.
Please start arising.
Arising.
Today we're arising.

Every time I look you in the eye, I see thunderclouds. Yes, your laugh is silver bells on a spring day and your smile could have caused Mona Lisa to grin all the way in, but they’re right. Your eyes are the behind the scenes and your body is a movie. I don’t enjoy watching movies.

2. I can’t keep up with the storyline. Chapters fifteen and sixteen were about homecomings, and now the main character’s digging his own grave again. You never explained to me how he went from dancing in the moonlight to rubbing ash on his head, just when I thought we were getting already to the ******.

3. The wounds are reopening. I thought you knew better than to pick at the stitches.

4. Your heart must be handcuffed to mine. I feel it every time you hurt, every time you pull, every time you cry out and ask God, “Why?” The only difference is that every inch you move away is a sucker punch in my gut. I’ve never had a high tolerance for pain.

5. Do you know how many poems I’ve written about you? Try walking outside at night and count every street lamp from here to the opposite side of the sea. My words burn too, but they never seem to be bright enough for you to see. You’re still tripping in broad daylight.

6. I’m tired of standing behind you.

7. Hope is an anchor, but I’m starting to drown.

8. Sometimes I scream in frustration because the seeds are taking too long to grow. It’s so easy to forget that they will. It’s even easier to forget that I’m not the savior. But I try to be, so I’m putting down this yoke, little by little.

9. Seeds do grow and their trees make enough rings to tell stories to last generations.

10. I heard in a song that love alone is worth the fight. Maybe I’ll continue this battle long enough for you to see that we’ve already won this war, so that the next time I look at you in the eye, I’ll see the northern lights.

I am oatmeal with
two tablespoons of sugar topped with
a strawberry freshly sliced, thin enough to
slip between my lips and slide
down my throat
without me having to chew
I am trying my best not to spit out seeds.

I am a pair of faded shorts
a charcoal cotton sweater
an ugly red scarf and a pair of
frayed black Toms, but
sometimes I am a vintage dress
or camouflage pants, and
some days I am a string of pearls
I am still trying to find the perfect shoes.

I am a Philippine history book
repeating the same mistakes
refusing to learn from those who
now kiss cool marble
but there are days when I take
three steps forward where
I see they took one step back.
I am trying to scrape off towers to read the letters
our grandfathers wrote in the dirt.

I am a missing pencil
that drew lines and traced figures
under the bed and wrote
stories of empty seats being filled
and now that the fountain pens have dried up
I've been found.
I am scared, but I am giving until my lead runs out.

I am a fervent prayer
longing for redemption to win
and for the fighting to end
please, I just want to see
hearts beating to the rhythm of
the stars being breathed into place
I am hope,
or I am trying to be, I am
trying to be a lot of other things still
testing, still throwing, still keeping.

But most of all, I am still
the choices I make and
maybe tomorrow I'll have
some rice and tapa
and a lightly salted sunny side up
instead of oatmeal and I promise,
I won't be spitting out any seeds.

I'll admit I didn't notice it
the first time I saw you
there was mystery wrapped around your fingers
and silence that sliced the air
I did not expect the flash of a helmet
I saw for that half split second
but as the hands moved on I saw a glimpse of
the warrior in you.

Tattooed on your feet
are the stars of the sea,
but you keep them hidden
in black socks and high topped rubber shoes
maybe you're scared of stepping on broken glass
you've cut yourself before, I know
but if you keep your feet sealed in
walking on familiar paths
you'll never know what it feels like
to have warm sand in between your toes
or on fresh grass, dampen your soles
don't be afraid of pain, for I know that there is
the warrior in you.

Your name means messenger.
I looked it up.
You don't say as much as the others
to me at least,
but when you do
you leave fingerprints in the air and
maybe you think that your words don't matter much
but believe me, they've planted seeds
and those seeds are growing
and your messages don't just come in
consonants and syllables, but in the way you
open doors and tap shoulders,
the way you hold your head,
hold it high, because there is
the warrior in you.

You have lived through many battles
I see it in your eyes.
I hope your heart doesn't grow heavy when
you lose one, because the war's
already been won.
Learn to trust, soldier,
you'll always need backup.
And when it seems like
dawn will never come,
I hope you'll remember
the Warrior in you.

When I was sketching this afternoon,
my strokes seemed unsure
and my lines were all wrong and
I realized some things about you.

The reason your fingers
always seem to be slipping
every time you try to catch a
handful of waterfall
is because once upon a time
the rocks that your soles were planted on
crumbled.

You used to be a deer,
the way you stood on new heights
and how you looked on
with a steady eye, so
when was it that you decided
one more step was too much for you to climb?

The burying must stop.
It has been proven time and time again
that no matter
how deep a grave is dug,
the flowers will give the bones away.

I don't understand why you
confuse seawater with fresh, because
I know that you've already stuck out your tongue
and tasted the sweetness of real freshwater
or have you?

You are dust
walking in deep shadows
where I cannot find you.
I have only a candle
and my words, but I will wait.
After all, in the beginning,
something beautiful was made from dust
and from a word
sprung a world.

And lastly I realized that
I hope that you someday read this poem
and we will sit together in the afternoon sun
and you will listen to the sound of new things
as I sketch with sure strokes
and just the right lines.

coincidence
          is just another word
for doubt

                          every letter was
      carefully placed upon the pages
to shake something


                         so don't worry about
               how the plot will twist
      write the character.