Waging War and Dying Slow

There is a madness born of fear
A path unteathered to reason’s core
Finding myself is not what I thought
And the darkness wins again.

I can despair because I know hope
More than if I did not
Yet in this storm so tossed about
I feel both hope and rot.

But how could I ever learn to trust
(Freely and on my own)
If I were not in frightening places
Let’s see how I have grown…


Tonight I dream despite…

“What is the purpose of my life?”
Do I die mired in sin?
Do I make a difference?
The sun sets a cool and pleasant night.

The storm,
Am I saved from it?
Or is that where I am thrown
To feel the breath of God?

Discordant heart
Failed attempts
What is my purpose?
In this dusty hot and empty place…