You don't need to write
me poetry
for you've already
engraved yourself
into my skin
your very being
is salvation enough
and with you
words don't even
need to exist
because your eyes
say it all
and the rhythm
of your hands
on my bones
and the fresh
beat of your heart
are my poetry

"my parents warned me about drugs on the street, but never the ones with green eyes and a heartbeat."

It's Christmas 2015,
And I am here to ask,
When will you and I be younger,
When will we have more life ahead to live,
And if we don't choose to fully live right now,
When will we?

Life is a precious gift.
Hellish?
Yes, sometimes.

Wonderful?
Yes, often!

Beautiful!
Certainly, and ugly, too.

Look up from ennui.
Rise from the ashes of despair.
Take hold of Hope.
Seize Forgiveness.
Embrace Courage.
Stumble or Stride into Life.

Do you know there is a Savior
Who came as a poor babe
Through the ****** doorway
Of a ****** to set His mortal path
To the ****** doorway of the Cross,
In order to lead us through it to Joy?

To travel that path to Joy,
You and I must do only one thing....

Receive the free gift;
Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ...
And be saved.

The rest is the infinitive
TO LIVE!

Life in Christ is a struggle;
No secrets there,
But that Life is worthy
The Sturm und Drang,
And don't we all have
Sturm und Drang
Anyway?  

So, LIVE!

Merry Christmas!

She saw me looking
at the beautiful night sky.
You seem fascinated
by the stars she mused.
They are more fascinated
by me I said.
We understand each other
the stars and I.
They see me as the one
who makes wishes.
I see them as the stars
who fail to grant them.
People think they are
made of fire and power.
But they are only
made of lost dreams
and unanswered prayers.
Which one is made of your wishes?
she asked.
I show her the brightest star
in the heavens.
It is that one
it burns with my wishes.
They are all about you
Doesn’t that make you a star?