Enjoy. Feel free to comment.

Sunday, January 30, 2011


They tell me stop but my heart unlocks the door every morning
And I glare through windows waiting for a knock on the door
Which never comes and wind blows through your void.
And dust covers the place where you once were.

And I simply sit in my chair with hands clasped
Knitting small memories together in my head.
I string them with threads of love.
It’s a blanket that will keep me warm at night.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Men Don't Ask For Directions

I don’t need a map, dear.
I’m making circles I know.
I’m lost in your eyes, love.
But I’m enjoying the show.

Don’t tell me to go left, dear.
Because it feels like it’s right.
I think I should rest now.
But I want you in sight.

I don’t need a map, dear.
I know the way now.
To be in your heart, dear.
The question is how?

Photograph by Randy Faris

Monday, January 24, 2011

My Heart


Tap tap
Triple flip.

Inner Beauty

Her feet glided over smooth pebbles
That scattered the floor.
The wind danced between her fingers
And she slowly swayed.

Her soft grace protected her soul
Like strong metal armor.
And she glowed of sweet aroma,
Laughing with children at play.

Men bowed in admiration
To the spotless soul that strolled their way.
And young girls, wide-eyed,
As the young lady drifted by.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Dear God

Your hands, cupped
To receive the little that I have.
The little that I’ve held back.

I open, clenched hands
That stayed that way for a while too long
Holding on to things that are not mine.

I unmask the face
That I’ve hidden from you
With decorations and definitions of beauty.

I cry the tears
That sweep through my steel doors
Into the arms of my Savior, my dear God.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Why I Write III

I scribble memories
And send them off in
Stampless envelopes

Covered in your name
With invisible ink
That stains my hands.

Stories A Boy Would Tell

I got a new one today.
A scar
Big and fresh.
A story I’m ashamed to tell.
A story of a broken heart,
Of a “love scar.”
But if a girl should ask,
I’ll just tell her I got bit by a shark.
“Yes Dear, that’s where I got my scar.”
Because she was a shark after all.
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