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.

You keep looking for yourself,
because you want so badly to see the 'real' you
so you look at quotes,
you experiment with lifestyles,
you question what you could be,
you look in a mirror but feel lied to,
then you hit a certain age and feel struck,
it's all between laughable and sad,
you notice the person behind every line of lipstain,
every cloak of cashmere,
and every bud on a cig,
you had this little speck of originality that no one understands.
Through all the time you spent trying to find yourself,
you were you,
it was just so hard to comprehend.

I am at that moment.
I have either finished something amazing,
or begun something amazing.
Or wait... am I in the middle of something amazing?
Does anything truly ever end
or are we always adding to a continuous string of adventures.
Even when something has finished, we still talk about it.
We still relive those feelings and emotions trying to retrieve them again
or never again.
Each adventure is unique but it is all connected.
We connect them with other times we have had and other people we know.
Nothing is singular and nothing stands alone.
So when I say I am beginning my journey, I am really adding on to the past I already know and want to change.
I would not be on this path if I didn't know the other road.
So I will continue on and my story is going to be a great one.

stripped naked in the figurative sense, I see a girl that is far overdue for a dose of joy. so much emptiness in her eyes, blood flow has become invisible. beauty. oh so much beauty in the way she cares absolutely too much for those that are unaware of her favorite color nevertheless asks how she feels every blue moon. perfectionist could quite possibly be her middle name by the way her heart beats in sync with the spontaneous moods that show their appearance every two days or so. anxiety equals a rapid beat. "if you feel worried then you must act on it" seems to be her philosophy because when she's sad and shaky the heart must go slow.
for,
she.
is.
slow.
when the depression hits and vulnerability only shows its face behind closed doors im sure she would say that she feels as though she's suffocating. suffocating in the figurative sense, where everyone is there watching her but no one can differentiate heavy breathing in basketball practice from a ******* asthma attack.
idiots.
so numb. she's so numb in the figurative sense. you ask her how she is and each time it's an automated "good" as if practiced hundreds of times before a theatre performance. an actress. she's an actress in the literal sense. planting a smile from ear to ear even when it's an obvious gloomy day for everyone else. she puts on a show of happiness that could very much earn her an oscar, if only she were literally in the entertainment business. I can see her falling in the way her back hunches just 10 degrees lower than it had a year ago. I would recommend a doctors appointment but im hoping she learns to fix it on her own. I'm hoping it begins to appear in someone around her that maybe she isn't as okay as she seems. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't just have bad days and doesn't just spare her low moods in spite of upsetting those around her. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't see herself as beautiful. this beautiful perfectionist is so far from perfect.
maybe if someone looked a little deeper in the literal and figurative sense, they would choose to ask, after her automated response of "good", "are you really?"
-mxy