Sometimes I'll be listening to music,
And the music will pause.
So I have to go back to what's playing the music,
To ensure it that it's playing the right song.

A trembling pale girl enters a stone
fortress of faith, buttresses flying outside,
in hopes of finding a way to atone,
find an anchor in the world’s shifting tides.

This Gothic cathedral lifts her wet eyes
to its heavenward ribbed vaulted peaks.
They’re painted deep blue like starry skies
in remembrance of what Creator to old Abraham speaks.

There, where each vault’s stone arches crisscross,
shines out like a clear harvest moon
the radiant burst of a gilded boss
that gleams in the recessing gloom.

Adrift in this vast and sacred space,
thin curls of burnt incense waft by
to fill the young girl with scented grace
whilst she sits in this place with wide eyes.

The gold on the stone catches candlelight
and reflects its flickering blaze
as the quiet chanting of canticles might
let her senses be softly amazed.

While the twinkling of these numerous stars
fills her rediscovered heavens within,
the tides of her fears recede past sandbars,
leaving puddles of patience therein.

The promise made by the Father long ago —
Abraham’s children would a galaxy be —
finds fulfillment in this starry girl now aglow
since from her darkness she’s tenderly freed.

She found her anchor and cast it up to the skies.
It caught a bright star and held fast.
New dawn lit inside her in quiet reply,
telling her no tides of tempest can last.

[1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 0 and repeat]

We
fit toge
ther seamlessly
like the numbers on
a digital alarm clock,
moving without hesi
tation, from one figure to
the next, a movement of time transi
tioning,  unsettling, unnotica

bly building on and constructing ourselves
within the construction of time
itself. We are the only
static constant, the on
ly reliable source:
time keeps moving
forward, and
so will
we —

I’m getting giddy
as the summer fades
into  yellow fall,
and the sky father
grants me the comfort
of storing his favor
on my tongue-
enough to close my eyes
and know that it will last  
for the coming snow,
the clean pure white that
will eventually evaporate as one
in the hibernating warmth
always underneath.

You have traveled thousands of miles
From East to West

Resting upon times
Blindly heading toward the future
The times you've taken those fives
It'll bloom even brighter

Now you can run as far as you want
Till you lose your breath;
but not your pace
Fear not, you have paved your own way then

The future is gonna be okay;
and I'll still be here to stay
Till you have reached your destination

i don't know how to accept that you don't hate me.
no, don't tell me you don't.
actually, please do.
please, i need it.
just to breathe.
please,
stop.
i know you don't hate me,
but do you know that i'm falling apart?
does my love for you sink into your skin?
does it reach around your heart and hold you so close you feel like you'll fall apart if there were even an inkling of doubt?
is it noticeable?
that i'm crumbling?
that i don't know the difference between love and tolerance?
can i accept it as fact when you say you love me?
or will i continue to distance myself when really all i need to do is listen?
and no, i'm not asking for reassurance.
i'm begging.
i need it.
please, i need it
just to breathe.
please,
stop.

What would a good man do?
Surely
more than I,
no?