This wretched woman's time had come
To reconcile her sins and pains  
Her own blood had become her cage
As spirit dripped from her sweet frame

She yearned to reach out and adore
To exorcize her scarlet foe
And find a rare and blessed relief
That only this man could bestow

Her breath in gasps, her heart aflame
She gently negotiates the crowd
Until she spies salvation's form
His garment whiter than the clouds  

With secret prayer she extends her hand
And gently grasps his flowing gown
Desperate that he does not
Notice her and turn around

For this moment she has lived
Enduring lonesome misery
Till hope appeared in prophet form
And a promise that could set her free

But as she knelt with hand gripped tight
The garment's owner sensed her touch
And turned to gaze upon her plight
And stooped and smiled and raised her up

His face ablaze with love and joy
Her spirit soared and her heart did swell
As he praised her courage and her faith
And told her they had made her well

The Christ had conquered blood and pain
And other times the sightless eyes
Had calmed the storm and eased the rain
And even death his will despised

He taught patience and mercy true
To trust in God to set things right
And forgive those who learn to hate
And cease from anger and it's fight

He made no riches, nor praises sought
But humbled he at others feet  
Rejected men's sad power games
And thus selfishness did defeat

Today this world acclaims his name
And sings his praises publicly
Two billion followers know his words
And call us “Christianity”  

Yet, if this world's “Christian” lands
Are grasping Jesus' garment tight
Then why is peace so far away
And nations ready or the fight?

For not prince of politics is Jesus Lord
or king of fury thus unleashed
But for grace and God's own glory
Is he the blessed “Prince of Peace”

i’ve fallen in love
in the most wonderful, perfect and loving way with the person that simply lights up my soul
he just makes me happy in ways that i’ve never felt before i met him

but he doesn’t love me back
it’s unrequited love
how tragically romantic
he’s always confused and i know that he’s just saying that because he feels bad and I can’t do anything about that at all

there’s no way to change how another person feels
and I, in some way, just have to accept my fate that I will have to go through a heartbreak to slowly and surely let him go
that’s just a way of life.

but all the nights, all the days, all the memories that I’ve truly lived through, that I’ve grown through, they can’t just go away
someone can’t just fall out of love

Unreality had started to set in for weeks now.
And all the while knowing a simple sentence could cure;
I ran from the words that I feared to conjure.

Today I thought of the might of the pen.
While stronger than the sword, its duty is at its end.
Most of my writing is on screens and keyboards.
How many generations before its metaphorical might,
Is something that new writers lose sight?

These days, I visualize all words written, as reality's stitching.
A way to dress the wounds of waiting.
A way to hide from a world of my making.