When tiresome rowing takes its toll,
Brings dare to care for what's beneath.
Long lost memories emerge from darkness,
Like the drowned, following surface call.
A cry for help, left with no answer,
Now meets our dread, begging release.
Reunion with those we once held dear,
Only to recognize their faces,
Their silhouette, their traits. Identify them,
To call old sorrows by their name.
We know them truly, to their core,
And wish were spared from this truth.
We close their eyes, bring them ashore.
A rescue arriving long overdue.

But the final push has yet to be made—
To find room for love in a grieving heart.
Where we can lay them to their grave,
Bid farewell, before we part.
With each epitaph, every tombstone,
Each pain brought where it desperately yearned,
To end the suffering, rejoice salvation,
Our own anchorage lessens weight.
Encouraged, we’re back to the boat,
To keep on making the heroic choice.
One day, unburdened, we too will float,
Feel pure, cared, loved, and rejoice.

I collapsed, the ground gave way
The earth, it trembled and it quaked
I thought that I would tear asunder
Ripped by each blight, botch, and blunder.
Could I ever overcome?
Not alone, no, not alone.
The world screamed until I was numb—
Like them, I thought I was alone.
When hardship comes and runs its course
When I am bashed by every force
When I feel sullied and abhorred—
Christ says, “You are not alone”.

Prowess, judgment, and bravery
Solitude is a walking hope
Tours of energy, have the world savory
Delighted with peace, a rallying cry of cope?

Delivering the news
Of austerity, the tout of power
Has the future, a fusion of a worlds good
Separate me from a stir of vicinity, baring is how?

Hello since a raging storm, has the voice
A waiting hour, to search forces for voids
Of caring for a wish of simplicity, a unifying choice
To place the service of ourselves, into the light of sorts?

Gifts of love?
Seldom to venture forth, with the arms of fated curiosity
Charisma in a whole ley, of works we dote are us
But a risk of beauty to a chaste, is it virtuosity?

The cloth of voiced persuasion
Halt and eschew the truth, a weary solemnity
Just for peace's argument, is tomorrow a savior's intuition?
Just because willingness has a soul, do we know a nativity?

For the silence of creation, a secret of simplicity
Worthing itself, as a shared host, of what was might
Many and decision, any and intimation, of divine sincerity
Has the moment and the need, of a universal right...

Children grew, with the passion of inclusion...
A habit of vice, to vindicate a victory
That has the voice of dependency, a filial cause to win
The marvel of understanding what will, a patience in history

JACK’S LOST:
turn left, then right, go straight, turn left. directions i gave to friends my age, the days I played with no regrets.
and yet, mistakes abreast of time, land a man standing in a cage.
my life the dam holding back success commanding happiness–i’m really low on faith, that the bench I call my bed has a door I can escape.
streetlights come on again, reminding me the harshest winds will be my nightly cape.
           DANGER NO LONGER A WARNING BUT REALITY:
flashes, head a swivel, too much my eyes can’t form a picture. pretty pictures … what I hope for as I sip my liquor.
God, my body pulled by strings, hardly can i repeat simple words to get me down the street:
                   turn left, then right, go straight, turn left.
i laugh as another car swerves around me, my eyes are closed, blind to my surroundings.
it hits my nose– the smell of gasoline, and I ponder pictures of factories, loud noises and fat machines.
                              PRETTY PICTURES! –I yell.
cross the avenue, my attitude is changing, cuz’– i toss my bottle down, cracking it blows, i blow in laughter.
God already knows this is my final chapter–nothing matters.
i open my eyes, what do i see?
cars pull up behind me, one sliding to the tip of my achilles.
woulda made a nice killing, but i guess they prefer not
         but then the car behind runs the line, my brain hits the chalk–
                                     M-M-M-MAYA?:
                                 friends my age, the days I played with no regrets
my regret was to leave you, to waste your time
that I’m aghast at harm without a breath
how I’d give everything to shield you from thoughts of death

                                            how I’d give everything to be there for you
                                     You smiled,
                                but didn’t mean it;
                                      You cried,
                                     I didn’t see it
                            if time is what’s at stake
                       this time, Jack, I will be here

                                           for you

                                         JACK'S FOUND:
Time’s passed, and the curse has been lifted.
Two seconds awake and I can tell that some things are different.
My eyes open like a jack-in-the-box; my hand is twitching.
Then I’m embraced like a mother who has just found her lost children.

Something about this is oddly familiar. Except for the bed of a hospital.

M-M-M-Maya?
It can’t be, she–
Swatted her hands through the web of our plans
She and I are not connected
we are,
strangers again.
                                                          ­               "Tell me you’re okay, Jack."
"I’m okay, or I’ll be okay,"
Same clothes and the same smell,
Too familiar but I can’t tell
                            "I’m sorry, this time I’m sorry and this time I mean it.
                                                             ­                 this time I can help you."
I ****.
Help is not an option, I’ve determined, I’m for certain that it’s just another scam–IT ISN’T WORKING.
         "I know, I know, Jack, please. But give me a moment, a moment
                                                                ­                                  to show you."
Her grip is stronger, or wit is smarter, i don’t know but I can’t move.
"Maya no! Maya I–"
    "Jack, I’ve paid your medical bill. You’re free to go home, wherever
    that is but please, listen before you go. I know I’ve hurt you. I know
             I’ve left you at your lowest, kicked you when you were down,
   attacked your weakest spot. When your brother died of pneumonia,
     people thought it’d finally be the thing to shut you up. Everyone at
the campus thought that. Everyone despised you Jack! And I’m sorry
that people despise what they can’t understand, that people don’t see
   the beauty in difference. Some people just hated the way you spoke,
how every sentence, though they were few and far between, sounded
                like poetry. They hated when they heard your music playing
     through the walls as they walked the hallways, they hated walking
      by and seeing your murals on walls of the student center, and they
            hated most that you never seemed to care what people thought
                                                                ­                                            of you."
"Maya, I didn’t care for the majority because only the opinion of the minority mattered. But my currency of faith has been wasted, entrusting it in the hands of my friends presented falsely in truth. I hate it–I hate the insatiable feeling to trust, so that when the wall you lean on falls through, you know you can only put blame on yourself."

              "Jack, you’re not to blame. It’s me. I should’ve had your back
        instead of crumbling under the opinions of others. I just wanted a
   reaction, satisfactory, the joy of feeling like I’m found attractive. And
                     in doing so, I gave up on the only true friend I had–you."

I look into her face, forgiveness tackling me like a football player, forgiveness for her and I. And I hug her like a mother who’s just found her lost child.

Why at this late hour
When the blood of our soldiers water the soil
And the sweat from our brows has fed the clouds
To dark, thick clouds, do Calvary come?

The infernal string's been plucked, the anthems sung.
So do not promise us the red Clover, for victory or not
The living soul's spirit has gone with the dead
And transformed them to living carcass

Arrive not dear salvation for all that I love lies here
let us fall with our soldiers and transcend with them
There's no greater Victory --or place for us no more--,
Except here, to be buried with the dead.

Since Jesus Christ is God, and I am not;
Since I am not my own creator, I,
Adam, shall seek no more to justify
Myself; for every tittle, dot, and jot
Has been fulfilled by Christ who's God of all,
The Adam hitherto I could not be,
The faithful Adam faithful now in me,
Adam redeemed and lifted from the fall.

The God of all the gods of nature, earth,
The kosmos, hades, greed, lust, war, and death,
Whose word is life, whose life is breath, whose breath
Inspires the wind that seeds the second birth,
Is Sin's Exterminator, Death's Decease,
Judgment, Forgiveness, Mercy, Love, and Peace.

when is is all there is where isn't was
and all the sky's inside a blue balloon
and everywhat is known to be because
too good is God to be believed too soon

then breathing breath doth verily become
(in spite of all the sayers saying nay)
a joy deflating all the threats of doom
since every doomsday dies before its day

I'm a demolitions expert of renown
Star of the show, the talk of the town
A destroyer of worlds they say
Or at the very least a destroyer of one

Voices rang inside my head
When things were good in my life
The urge to sabotage, the want to destroy
The desire to go off-course, the desire to stop

It has been there for as long as I can remember
Guiding me to the dark path
More often winning than being ignored
It was something I blamed for the way things are

But that was just me, my subconscious, my insecurity
Molding my decisions to be as suboptimal as possible
I need to accept, and got to learn accountability
Face the consequences, and fix the broken crucible

I want to destroy no more, for destruction is already here
Already suffering for the mess I have made
What I thought I deserved, I definitely do not
Now I have to make do with what little I have left

Let it stand as a lesson, let it stay as a warning
Beware when you light the fuse and watch the sparks
They may shine beautifully, but they are searing to the eyes
And if you do continue, give the big boom my regards