Find someone who makes you feel like the sun is something they made for you for extra credit in wood shop.
But don't find someone who needs extra credit.
There is going to be somebody that,
because of you,
will not understand what they're doing.
Or why they're doing it.
But they will do so.
Always.
I can promise you that someone will let you in.
Someone will show you that darkness can,
and will
swell.
But just like a sprained ankle,
it wont expand anywhere else.
Don't let your body enlarge into darkness.
Someone will tell you not to.
And someone will love you.
But you need to first understand that you are someone.
And that everybody who is someone needs someone.
Don't be afraid to be the one for yourself.

Trying to find my way.
Summer nights.
It is still not the same.

What is my soul?
An indiscernible force?
Or is it just nonexistent?

I love the snow - maybe that is my soul
But then again, maybe not
For I am not as cold as a mid-winter blizzard

Maybe water is my soul
I am naive and I can easily elude
But water is not my soul - my emotions are as hard as rock

Maybe a rock!
Ah yes, a rock! A rock is my soul!
But, then again, I have some feelings (I hope)

After many moons of thinking,
I may have come to a conclusion
Of what my soul really is

My soul is fire
My spirit burns bright
My determination never-ending

I have my soul
But what is yours?
Please tell me, before my flame goes.

You're probably reading this from the same place I'm writing it
behind a desk
outside the box
trapped in a corporation
free in my thoughts

You're probably reading this for the same reason I'm writing it
because words matter
because it doesn't matter
the way everything matters

You're probably sick of reading
probably
yet we are hardly anything more than what can be proven
we're probably
the invention before probability

The loving  likelihoods of life
like crawling before walking
like falling when learning to walk
like walking into runs

The statistics of confusion
divided for the mystical equation
of adding all things make believe
subtracting all things real
and solving you for yourself

I will run alongside
every highway
every route
to find you
in the next city
the next crossroad
the next nowhere
I will get lost
and you will too
only to find your home
in my arms
and I’ll find mine
in your heart

Finding Holy Ground frequently,
should be much easier these days;
isn’t it wherever we happen to go,
since His presence abides with us?
Haven’t we accepted His higher ways?

Are His precepts and promises hidden,
inside the stony temple of our hearts?
Do we desire to mesh our wills with His?
Are we making proper, daily sacrifices
of attitudes- without being torn apart?

Can our speech be free of covetousness?
Will we learn to be completely content,
boldly knowing The Lord is our helper?
Can we get over the irrational fears
that may usurp His Grace and circumvent

the holy plans and purpose given to us?
Are we bowing daily to His authority?
Can we listen to Godly conversations,
without be offended by our ignorance?
Wherever we go, we must realize and see

that we are standing on holy ground-
for the Earth still belongs to the Lord.
Therefore, let’s raise clean hands overhead
with genuine praise before Him, seeing…
that He remains worthy of being adored!
.
.
.
Author Notes

Inspired by:
Heb 13:5-8; Isa 55:8-9; Psa 24

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.

Sometimes I scratch my skin so loose
about whether we would find where happy is hiding
if we thought much less
about these twisting logics,
quieted our overstimulated ambiance
by quieting our own processing
and essentially
not caring so much.

I know I would, would find it somewhere,
but it's funny how that doesn't make me wish
I thought less in time,
I wonder what is brewing in me
that so craves a stormy conscious
rather than what we all cry those late nights about,
because my theory of life
is that the purpose of life
is to find it,
yet part of me seems to care more about the theory
than the truth and action of itself.

is a person who moves
from one place to another
with a trusty companion,
in a group, or whatever;
no permanent homes
of which to conquer
but the heart is in union
with a special answer;
from here to there, it travels
finding comfort in every corner
hoping to someday discern
what was never thought to uncover.