No strength to be assertive
on the city street,
No way to pull the curtain
when he goes to sleep
No way to know for certain
He'll have food to eat.
No comfort for the hurtin'
blisters on his feet.

Who can know the burden
of the man who lost it all?
Or the sharp edge of the sword
that sliced before his fall?
Who can pick him up when
he's a nervous wreck?
With his fingers in your face,
you can't remove his speck

Who can give him any hope?
he thinks he knows it all
Who can reach a restless man
when he builds his wall?

Like soothing a bawling baby
crying louder than you can speak
Traumatized by anticipation
because his faith is weak
He wants it all or nothing
Such a restless and hungry man
Overcome with shame and fear
of what he'll never understand.

Faith really does
move mountains..
Jesus Christ really is King.
And the road that leads to
heaven really is paved in
hard suffering..
In all our search for knowledge
Some of us pass by
this simple truth:
that abiding is much more
the wiser than roaming
in some foolish pursuit..
We really were marred
by arrogance,
But Christ really did
come to restore..
His word isn't written
in the soft sinking sand,
but in stone forever more..
He really does call "whosoever"
And many really do turn away
But He really did come to seek
that which was lost
and bid them all to stay..
This world really is fading..
From the mountains to our
flesh and bone..
but for the abiding soul
that cannot be moved,
an open door beckons
them home..

We put our
problems in a bottle,
sank it and
said a prayer..
then hammered
down the throttle
and threw our hands
to the open air..
The evening sky
especially beautiful -
It's sun bursting
through cloudy skies
And still, it was
barely suitable
to reflect those
bluest eyes..
Then we tore through
sparkling water -
Blonde curls dancin'
in the summer wind
Just a worn out dad
and his daughter
who might not come
this way again..
But today the water
welcomes us..
promising to drown
our sorrow..
And perhaps,
the Good Lord helpin' us,
we'll do it all
again tomorrow..

If I have to be psychotic,
Let it bring no harm to anyone..
fill my mind with hues of colors;
not the pressure of passing time.
If I'm convinced of any lies,
let it be "this world is just fine"
I'll bid farewell to sanity and
let the colors fill my mind..

I guess it doesn't matter now..
All the tears I've ever cried..
Or all the times I lost my mind
when pieces of me would die.
But I just kept clinging as my
world came crashing down..
hugging your memory tighter
when I heard the crashing sound..
But I guess it doesn't matter now..
You're long gone and I'm alone -
my guts burning with torment
writing this poetry on my phone..
And who will ever cry for me
when you have better things to do?
The little girl who cries for boys
has long been gone from you..

Somewhere in the sands of time,
I hear the sound of a faithful cry..
from a bird with broken wings
who sings "my hope will never die!"..
His chances are less than average.
He's a candle in a hurricane.
Still he bows beaneath the storm
and he sings louder amidst the rain.
He knows what he'd become
if it were not for his broken wings..
He'd probably make a nest of thorns
and fill it up with shining things.
He might say "I'll sing tomorrow" -
But tomorrow might never come..
And the only awful song would be
a song that he never sung.
And what would he become
when his soul no longer sings?
So, he sings his songs of gratitude
all the more with his broken wings..

Guards led him to a one-man slam
down a cold concrete, narrow hall..
He checked the sink, threw down his mat,
and scratched "endure it" on the wall..
Between the bitterness of insanity,
he heard a faint whisper in the silence
saying, "what doesn't **** you, heals you"
and that's even true with violence..
He wore a broken heart like black eyes,
you could see it in how he'd walk
with his lowly, desperate demeanor,
looking away every time he'd talk..
He wore every label people gave him,
ignoring that inner voice pleading
saying, "scars are only ugly to those
whose wounds are still bleeding.."
He sang songs to protect his sanity..
hoping it would drown the voices
heard from loved ones in his nightmares
reminding him of his bad choices..
No one really cared to listen..
He was so desperate, he didn't care
for the only love he had, he knew,
was the love that he had to share.  
Loving God means loving people..
Twist it up however you want to,
but there's always hope in hardship
for everything you've ever gone through,
but you have to listen to the whisper -
Not the voices screaming in your head..
My heart cries for the closed mouths
of the hearts that are never fed..
Confess it all and let Him heal you..
Cry out to the One True Savior
The One who can heal the inside
changing natures of those behaviors..
I'm telling you, He'll listen..
He'll give you hope that He keeps secure..
And for the all the storms he don't rebuke,
He gives you strength that you may endure.