Grateful for the thing I cannot see
For the good that lies
Just beyond the ruin
At my feet.
Sweet ruin.
Lovely the splendor 
Of the plenty
Hidden deep beneath
The disguise of unwanted things.
Remember to be grateful.
Remember to rejoice 
When ugliness you meet,
For it's He and his abundance
That hides and waits 
With pockets deep
And gifts aplenty
For the one who can't be fooled
By the rough appearance
Of higher things.

Heavy garments
Laden with rain,
Dripping 
With the tearful stain
Of frightful tomorrows.
Why is it
That I frown the future
And so disdain the present
As to think
That I am bound 
To someone else's fears?
I am not - thank God!
For he has made me free
To bound upon the meadow grass
When the morning's first dew
Has laden it with freshness!
He has borne me unto wistful musings.
He has breathed new life 
Where once the grief
Of sacrifice
Pressed and crushed me down
And tried to squeeze
Not just the hope
But life itself
Out of me.
And now I'm free.
And I do not bear the burden 
Of the thing that you call time,
Accept in that one place
Where our two worlds meet.
There I come 
To touch you with the thing I am
The thing He's made of me,
But that, only for a moment
After which I flee
Back to this place 
Where there is space
To contemplate 
The reality 
That does not bind itself down
With weighty fictions.
And here there springs to life
The hope of all that is fanciful,
All that is real,
All that entreats.
Come with me.
How long will you linger
In the burden of
Your own defeat?
"But I am not defeated yet!" you say.
Very well.
Have it your way.
But I will miss you
While you seek
Far and wide,
And strive toward some end 
That you deem right
And ruin yourself
To unseen things
And revel 
In your glory.
See it through if you must,
And then
When you've wasted away
And grown weak,
When your eyes are dim
And your voice too pale
To speak,
Remember me
And come to me upon the wind
That whisks away the ungrateful
And if you're not too busy then,
Come kiss me
And remind me of the days 
Before ambition
Stole you from me.
And if you do,
Then you will finally be free.
And together, 
Hand in hand,
We'll bound upon the meadow grass
When the dew still clings 
To the leaf,
And dream of all the things that be
Just beyond forgotten tomorrows,
And exchange our heavy garments
For light ones.
And far into the misty sea of reality
We'll fly upon their wings.
Until then,
Fairwell my friend.
I love you.
I miss you. 
​Always,
Me

Looking, looking
Out upon the horizon
Ever looking,
Searching,
Ever Searching
Out upon the horizon
There upon the plain
Out upon the horizon
Looking, ever searching
Moving, ever searching
Out upon the horizon
Over hill and mountain,
Searching, ever searching
Moving ever moving
Down and up
Or hill and plain,
Moving, ever searching
Where the distance meets the main.

Why do I vacillate
Between two things?
Why do I try?
Why does this hurried, anxious
Mad desire toward 
The empty, frightful void
Propel me to act
Impulsively?
Why?
When the promise of Spring
Is even now
Wafting across the plain
And showering its pleasures
Down upon the world
In the ever sure return
Of April's rain.
Ungrateful fool!
Did you think
To beat the Master
At His game?
Did you hope
By your vain ambition
To propel yourself ahead of others 
And thus claim the lion's share 
Of His abundance?
If so,
You are sorely mistaken.
It is the devil's time you keep
When you trust 
In the thing that thinks
That it can know
What's best for itself.
And it's the wind you sow
When you blow and blow
And the whirlwind 
That you'll reap
In the end.
Better to trust 
The winds that blow
From that unknown place
In the heart of Spring.
And to slow down
Enough to hear
The beat, beat, beat
Of that distant heart 
That pulses for us all.
After all, 
You are blessed today
With sunshine
And rain
And they will come again.
For they are true
To the maker of such things
And true to you
If you will choose them.
But that you must do,
Choose that is,
For you cannot have both.

Thank God 
That you are two things.
If not, you would be one
And that not His.
But the day is coming
When you will have to choose,
Everlastingly, everlastingly.
And then
You will be one 
And not two.
Oh God! 
And if one, then whose?
Not yours, Not yours
But His 
Or his.
And better to be two
Than one
When the thing that you are 
Is not enough.
But better still
To forsake the two
For one.
For you cannot be two forever.

Why do you run
From the thing that you desire?
You say that it's the truth you want
But when you find it,
You disbelieve.
Why?!
Why speak?
Why piss into the wind?
I don't know what to do with that.
Truly!
Why won't you listen?
Why do you prioritize 
The thing that you believe
The thing that you can masticate
But never swallow.
Don't you know
That the truth is sweet?
And simple.
And it lasts all day long
And satisfies
If you will choose it over meat.
But you want a thing
That you can keep.
And so, you go hungry.
What am I to do with that
But to remain silent 
Until the pain grows deep enough
That you can sip a spoonful.
Perhaps that is the only way.
Damn! 
But if you only knew
What feasts await!
I sit at the table and wait.
And wait.

Why is it that so much of human life
Is more sacred when it's gone,
That it is cherished more
When it disappears?
And why is so much of life ugly
And fallen
And profane?
I don't know.
But what I do know 
Is that to spite all that,
The thought of every passing life
Arises with sacred coolness
When the shades of evening
Have pulled it to the grave?
Perhaps life was so unlovely
Because we expected too much of it.
After all, in the end,
At best we are graced with an epitaph.
A few words to sum it all up,
Or a symbol etched in stone.
And that is sacred.
That is pure,
Not the monument itself
But the living, breathing, sacred substance
That arises within the wandering stranger
Who passes it and thinks:
Here is one who was a part 
Of that great, swelling, sacred thing
That this symbol,
These words,
Represent.
But it's rare to find
Such symbols anymore on graves,
in the absence of which,
I prefer a name,
A single name and date.
That is sacred.
That is pure,
To say that one endured,
That they were graced with life
From date to date.
But more lovely still, I think 
Is to die at sea 
And be forgotten.
That is sacred.
That is pure,
To live a life
And let it be,
Let it rest
Beneath the sea.
And you know,
That is what I want
To become of me when I die.
Don't pretend 
That I was a part of something
So very great.
Don't mark my name
From date to date.
Just roll me in a burlap sack
And quietly, reverently, bury me.
And let fishes or worms
It matters not which
Destroy what's left,
Until I disappear.
And then perhaps
You'll know me
For what I am.
Then perhaps,
You'll see,
And cherish me most
When there's nothing left.

I am so tired of trying to be enough.
So Sad.
Why won't you leave me be?
Don't you see I'm miserable
Trying to pretend 
That I am enough 
To stand eye to eye
With you?
Why will you demand of me 
Another rise.
Isn't it enough that you are strong
And I am weak?
Please just let me return
To my mother's arms.
Let me go home.
Let me be where
What I am is enough,
Where I do not need to fight
For dominance.
Why don't you just fight on without me?
Fight when I am gone.
Wait till I've disappeared,
Then fight on.
But let me be simple and weak.
Let me be enough
Just as I am.
And if ever you break,
If ever your eyes grow dim
​Or your wit gives out
And that dark gift of yours,
The one you use to abuse us,
If it ever falters
And you find yourself 
On the other side of success,
Looking up from underneath.
Or if ever you discover 
That you're tired of fighting,
Tired of winning,
Tired of pretending
That you are better,
Then come and find me.
I won't hold a grudge,
For after all, we were friends 
Before all of this striving started.
And aren't all of us just waiting
For the day 
When mother earth will wrap us up
In her embrace
And remind us that we are one with her.
Perhaps then,
We'll let each other be
And honor both the on the top
As well as underneath.