Believing Words

The villain is my heart
And fear a shield of pain that does not deflect
The wounds it gives just from holding
Make it’s protection naught
I cannot give up in this great fight
But it has been so long
And as my heart and spirit fade
I lose that joyful song
Let the villain turn around
And let the time be now
Fear is not the answer hear
And life will soon abound.

Some Days With Our Brothers and Sisters

Hope is a precious thing
And I don’t know where it goes
When your child dies.

Every day someone dies.

Everyone is someone’s child.

And sometimes you outlive your children.

Where does gentle hope reside
When grief in force kicks down your door?
And where do fragile spirits hide
With all this blood upon the floor?

Teach me oh God of Wrath
Where the rain upon the earth will fall
And where the soul that grieves may go
When every hope has fled.


Your head,
not kept up
Your eyes,
empty and still
Your shoulders,
low and hunched
Your voice,
a whisper.

I do not stop for coffee
when I have no hope
and it is hard to speak to God
here in this desert.

But seeing you
I am reminded
of this sad thing:
I am not alone
in hurting,
in grieving,
in pain.

But it has grown hard
hard to take on another’s pain
hard to love
hard to comfort
when I have such little faith
and even less hope.

But I see you stranger
I see it in your eyes
I know that this moment is misery
And if you would just look at me
for a moment
you would see
that you are not alone.


But the morning after I fell so far
And landed on earth with all these scars
And could not believe how I had marred
And could not mistake the feathers and tar.

And burning with shame I woke from a dream
But I was afraid of the shimmer and gleam
And would not hold on to that which seemed
To good to be true (or so I had deemed).

So this is my prayer in the morning I rise
I sing it to you as I look to the skies
It loses its words as it sheds its disguise
And I see for the first time through your eyes.

An Excerpt Inside

Wars never fought.

A gentle mist that sits upon
Fallen stories drenched in blood
Burdens filled with guilt and shame
And all that quiet rage.

Her hair shines
And so does her spirit
Though she seems not to know it
Most days.

The heart gets beaten and depressed
The worries and the sickness weigh
And all the heartache fills the world
At least what you can see.

When she speaks

I am stilled.

As if caught
in some web
and I cannot move
at the sound
of her lovely voice.

They locked up better men
and left me out and free
They took the best that I had given
And threw it out with shit.

I do not see the light sometimes
The darkness fills me far too much
And I cannot take all this feeling
Sobriety is hard.

When she steps into a room
My mind goes blank with hope and fear
And everything becomes a jumble
Tossed and thrown about.

The fighting always never ending
A constant war without a pause
I long for rest that does not come here
At least it has not yet.

It is not oft she drops her guard
But when she does the angels sing
And in the voice of heavenly choirs
She might finally deign to speak.

I could not rise when I was bidden
Or so the chains did speak to me
And while my loved ones screamed in dying
I was fast held down.

Her eyes are big like pools of beauty
In a quiet mountain cleft
Though all about the storms are raging
Inside their waters lies still dreams.

He sent me to a desert flying
Thrown upon the waiting sand
Ripping flesh and bruising ego
Break the bones to save the soul.

If I look up I fear I’ll die,
I draw so close unto the end
I am so heavy: I cannot fly.
But still you call to send.

Gold and blue that soothes the soul
A waiting shelter in the storm
A sign of hope and futures loved
After all the pain.