Another year escaped me
trying to halt the cosmos spinning
but the Cheshire cat kept grinning
so I track of lost time
I prefer be late than lost;
immersed in restless pacing
so focused on the racing
that I’m blind to miracles
So raise your glass and find me
with all my cares behind me
and I’ll even let you join me
and we’ll drink to open eyes
I had lost track of time
standing still, staring intently
at the worn wooden entrance.
Did I have the courage to see
what lay on the other side?
The door was so plain
yet so menacing.
It seemed to grow
taller, wider, darker.
Masked in ivy the barrier stood,
able to sense my cowardice.
Wracking my brain to recall
how I had come to be here
only led to further questions.
The timbered gateway remained.
In fear I turned away
praying for any alternative
only to find the passage that
led me here was undone.
That’s when I knew,
it was divine.
The devil is in the details;
the quiet repetitions of intricate patterns.
Awaiting an eager, trusting soul
to charm into complacency.
You’d imagine him frightening
but he’s delicate like lace.
Circular, elaborate designs
comprise his parameters-
a sickening but lovely hypnosis.
So I
I fight against this conditioning.
satisfied in the knowledge
that there is more to existence
than soft distractions.
I’ve mapped it out
a thousand times;
I am some kind
of architect.
Envisioning a life
engineered by vanities.
Serving myself,
believing I know
what’s best.
But this structure
is insecure,
unstable.
I dream of
a fortress that is
cracked and faulty.
Brought down
by simple storms
and weak winds.
I lament to admit
I need a designer
more skilled
than I.
I never even saw your face
since you were sleeping on the ground
An heir of God’s amazing grace
who seemed more lost than found
Your concrete bed and outstretched hand
asked for something more
Facing the fact that you’d been damned
to this life among the poor
I parted my lips to say something
I opened my arms to do something
And for a moment I was you; helpless
unsure of where to start
The tragic image of your figure
was carved into my heart
I hope you know that you’re watched over
and that angels dance for you
And even still moreover
you can always have life anew
We worked hard
to serve ourselves-
building golden thrones and legacies.
Murderous succession
settled in our hearts,
and we the Kings
drank power like wine.
We entrusted our fate
to the inanimate
and offered our own flesh
in bloody sacrifice.
Our desperation for survival
could hardly be satisfied;
a spirit that would lead us
to a palace called Exile.
But the history we worked
so hard to write
was undone by a man
who rode in
on a donkey.
Conversing with the mad hatter
sipping wine from a teacup
leaving lipstick stains around the rim.
He wipes my words off my sleeve-
and when I see his eccentricity
it lights up me like electricity.
My reckless heart undoes me
but I’ve no agenda save God’s.
The hatter smiles back at me
Like he knows something I don’t.
He can see I once lived half-alive
but playing the victim’s not my style.
Our discussion marches into night
and he pours me another cup of endearment.
The outraged crowd
threw me at His feet-
impact.
Choking on dust
and inhaling shame
I prepared to make
this dirty ground
my grave.
Closing my eyes
one final time
the burning tears
fell slowly down my face.
It didn’t make sense;
so many husbands
never really knowing love.
It was too late
for answers now,
so I waited.
But when I looked up
I saw no one.
Stones left behind
on the ground.
“Who is there
to condemn you?” He asked.
“No one” I said.
No one.
The bodies on the page spoke clear as day
This was her lot; there was no other choice
She was an object purposed for display
What skin she showed would now become her voice
They told her she was worth what she would sell
Gaining the world, she forfeited her soul
Her beauty here was worth the chance of hell
Starving herself so that she could feel whole
But every now and then she sees a light
Power that comes from God and not from man
A chance to be forgiven and rewrite
Holding to hope- there is a bigger plan
God help me understand how I can be
no more enslaved to my Anatomy
When you bruised me
When you cut me
You shaped me
It’s a bittersweet thank you
Long delayed
But I need to say it
Because I’m tired
Of drinking this poison
So here it is
Your old dreams back
Not to haunt but to forgive
All smiles and scars
And everything between
When you used me
When you betrayed me
I became me
It’s a beautiful revision
Long awaited
So I need to tell you
Because in this moment
Everything tastes sweet
The Glass Poems 