December.

December’s chill hugs me close,
An icy blanket wrapped around my form.
My mind is tangled with nostalgia
Among the warm glow enveloping the room.

Ghosts of children haunt the walls—
Memories that are bittersweet.
The sweetness remains in the souls that roam,
But bitterness recognizes their loss.

Christmas idealizes snow and ice
And the birth of an innocent Son
Whose purpose was to die.

Why pretend that December brings cheer?
Here, there are short days and longer nights.
I envy the Decembers of my dreams.

The death of the year reminds me of fears,
And I long for the birth of new life.
Strange.
That life I seek is found in the death
Of an innocent child whose mother
Held him tight.

What joy.
What scandalous joy.

My God gives me life in death,
And the death that brought life
Is celebrated in recognition
Of painful birth that brought great joy.

Pain and joy frolic hand-in-hand.

Thank God that there is no end.
Eternity caresses our heads.

Peace washes over earth, and
Good will flares in the hearts of men.

12.25.18

Stranger.

It is strange
To be told that
A stranger
Is safer
Than the heart of
Someone who knows me
So well.

Even stranger,
Is seeing the sun
Amongst the clouds
Of my mind
Rather than the clouds
Of you
Amongst the sun of
My visions.

I am in the middle
Of emotions and longing
For you.
And for you to leave
These sacred corners
Of my mind.

I am trembling
Along a troublesome bridge,
Avoiding the tearful trauma
Of my tempting mind.

What is mine?
Not my hopes; just my fears.
The fears that keep your face
Near or else the fright will
Yoke me to discomfort.

I will be trapped.
In comfort, I am
Capturing the lingering
Remembrance of you
And the comfort of your
Familiarity
Reminding me that I am me.

How to be free?
Here I flee, to the safety
Of you in my thoughts as I see
Myself ensnared
In the center of
This crossing bridge,
Afraid to move forward
And too mature to
Return.

Trapped in you,
I cannot be free.
But to move on,
I must come to see
That strangers are only strange
Because they are unknown.

And sadly,
You see,
The unknown frightens me.

12.3.18

Home.

Home.

How strange and sweet the word
Appears on my tongue,
Attaching to living people rather than
Places.

Or rather, experiences and souls
That attach themselves to me;
I find familiar dwelling
Among beloved faces.

A golden-lit living room where
Flowers hang and clear voices sing
And arms wrap around me to keep
Warm.

This world swarms with every
Reckless joy and sweet companionship.

A white sofa with familiar hands
Stroking my hair and familiar
Feet pattering on the floor;
The hum of the television.

This world reminds of my childhood,
A nostalgic tradition of my growth.

More memories impress upon me;
The essences of home—

A dimly lit cabin with a comforting
Shoulder to lean upon, and a
Stringed instrument that echoes
Among the walls and bodies
That recline in peace upon the floor.

A mountaintop hike in dense fog,
Drawn with many feet
That have experienced a rollercoaster
Of ups and downs, leading swiftly to
The heart of Jesus.

A cliff overlooking a glittering city
That I once thought to be ugly, but now—
With the haze of cigars and friendship—
Represents the beauty of all of you.

A late-night clattering adventure
Among railroad tracks and fireworks
And every wild thing that roams the
Hearts of the young.

Every song that has been sung,
Every word that has been spoken;
Every embrace that warms my soul,
Every chase that leads to sunrises.

More than a single place,
I find my home attached to a map—
A thousand strings marking the world
That I have grown to love,
Finding their intertwining way to the
Lives of the souls

Who remind me of comfort and safety and

Home.

12.17.18

Heart cry.

Doubts shatter my hope
And the joy I find to sustain
My dusty soul in the storms.

How can a God who controls
The entire universe be contained
To the thin pages of an ancient book?

Give me faith.

I’ve been damned to crucifying
Doubt and discouragement for
Far too long.

And yet, is He contained?
The thin pages of an ancient book
Have stirred hearts to recklessly
Die for Someone unseen.

Souls have crossed mountains and valleys,
Defied powerful dictators and tribal leaders;
Seen miracles swell the seas and part the water,
Watched dying souls gain life in stale
Hospital walls.

The leaves on the trees die every year
And resurrect in the warmth of the sun;
The sky bursts with every color, and the
Rain produces rainbows of exploding promise.

The ground churns with hot lava 

and lifts up our many wavering feet.
The planets careen around one another,

and yet we never collide.

Intricacies and strategies have never
Proven themselves sustained by
Spontaneity;
They must be structured by creativity,
And how can the world’s basis of creativity
Be a negative blank void that ruptured 

into existence?

Unexplainable joy has been derived from
The evilest and bleakest circumstances;
Somehow the light of His hope shines
Brightest in the pitch-blackness.

He is before and within and withstanding all things.
Everything.
Every atom and molecule.
Every ringing laugh and gasping tear.
Every mother’s smile and lover’s embrace.

Despite the cheap advertisement of the world,
And despite the spiked heel of the king of
Darkness that crushes the beauty of humanity,
My God holds the spinning universe into place,

And one day, He will show His face.

We must only have faith.
My God, my Sustainer, my Savior, my only Purpose:

Give me faith.

12.17.18

Togetherness.

Peculiar feelings of irregularity
Consume my thoughts and visions
At home despite the screens.

Apart from souls I’ve grown to love,
I wonder if I worship togetherness
Or a dream that is perfection.

My identity is wrapped too tightly
In the idea of being chosen,
And I cower from loneliness;

Terror that I will lose everything
That I hold dear and the fear
Clutches my mind with cold fingers.

Do I worship togetherness?
And yet my God is three-in-one,
Wrapped up in Father, Spirit, and Son.

It is time to loose these chains;
It is time to release my hold
On the ones I hold so close.

It is time to take my adoration
And turn it into praise of the One
Who has gifted us community.

We were never meant to be alone,
And we were never meant to walk
Along the paths of life without
Companionship.

But we were never meant to
Fill the cup in one another’s hearts
That is reserved for the Creator of
Relationships.

Together with Him,
And together are we.

Perfection will come with heaven.
For now, there is trust.

11.18.18

My friend.

Hiding
Relieves the pain
So that I
Don’t have to relive
Losing you.

I choose darkness now
In the confines of
My room,
Or the early morning
Sunlight alone in the
Library.

Contrary to my desires,
Or my heart’s steady race,
I choose to remain stagnant.
If I see your face,
I feel like I can’t
Breathe.

And I’m sorry, but I must.
I must breathe or I will
Never move on.
My friend,
I must push you away
To live.
To be.

It aches, but I must let you go.
I must be free.

11.27.18

Year’s end.

The year has ticked past
Like the minute-hand on a clock;
One second creates
An eternity of mesmerizing
Life.

A whirlwind of events
Leaves me standing
Quite breathless;
I’m addicted to the commotion
Of time’s swift motion,
And the fight

Of finding myself beneath
These layers of time
And experiences.

People merge together,
Creating a unity of spiritual
Relations that I imagine
Will last, everlasting,
If my God allows.

But,
How to explain the unending
Turmoil of building relationships
That will crumble sometimes
Despite the battle to keep them
Alive?

Yet, I am thankful.

Disappointment trumps
Happiness but
Hope
Crushes lingering fear.

This year, I have faced
My enemy that rains fire
Onto my mind’s plans;

But then, that fire kindled
The embers of hope,
And I am captured
By time’s steady race.

Let me see Your face.
Lead me along the sweet-tasting road
Filled with hope;
But if I must face adversity,
Remind me of eternity.

The shackles of time will not last
Forever;
But nevertheless,
Life will live on.

12.12.18

The wound.

You stabbed me yesterday,
But like a wound and knife,
You did not see the damage,
For I did not bleed until
I pulled away.

I must continue to love you,
And unfortunately, that's not hard,
But to continue to love myself—
To bind up the bleeding wounds—
Is harder than to stay.

9.17.18

Soliloquy: one.

The wind howls gently
Through the crack under our
Front door, but inside
We are warm from the Christmas
Lights and the night’s peaceful
Glow.

So much love fills our comfortable
Space, and I am grateful
For this place that I can call
My own.

One writes a poem under the thicket
Of a blanket, while the other
Laughs softly from the end of the sofa.
Hoping to fill my hands with joy,
I sprinkle color on my fingertips.

My hair is wet.

Outside our little room,
The rain streaks the cement,
And the pent-up anger of the world
Showers the ground with growling cold.

Inside our little room,
The lamplight holds us close,
And we peacefully repose
In the rest of our God.

Here,
The fear has thawed.

12.9.18

Autumn recollection.

Potentiality and restless dreams
Stir the growing discomfort
I feel as the responsibility
Escalates.

Hell-week and dead-week,
And all the acronyms for the
Last straw of this screeching
Semester
Boil over in my mind,

And I am
Very
Tired.

Do you remember the beginning,
When everything was new
And our friends were faces
Of strangers?

Do you remember when you
Were my closest companion
And confident friend before
We broke that bridge?

Now the strangers are friends
And the friend is a stranger
And I wonder at how this semester
Has turned.

Wondering for the future
And stressing for the present
Presents a conglomeration of
Exhaustion.

Here, in the ordinary terror
Of this academic week,
I need You more than ever
To show me that despite the fact
That I am weak,
You will pull me through this storm,
And gift me with sweet memories,
And better days to come.

12.5.18

Harsh relief.

Reminiscent poetry requires
My discomfort
As I see the hope of home
And remember the taste
Of disappointment.

Loneliness and longing
Wrap me in harsh relief
From the hiding disbelief
And the eyes I cannot see;
We cannot be.

9.23.18

We lived.

When we are old and gray

When we look back on the

Wild years of youth

Will we see chaos

Will we see nights on the town

On the railroad tracks in the dark

With nothing but flashlights

And high spirits to hold us down

Will we see late nights of mocking

And jesting flirtation

In the sublime confines

Of the commons and patios

Will we see stars that stretch

Across the sky and across our eyes

As we speak our hopes and dreams

Into one another's souls

Will we see confusion

And hardship memories

As we birth into a newfound

Adulthood in this reckless world

Will we see laughter

And overwhelming joy

Mixed with overwhelming pain

In our exploding existence

Will we look back when we are old

In the stretched days of our age

To peer upon the kids we once were

With the glorious memory that

We lived.

9.4.18