Stark Reality

Some truth to this life I know:

I regained paradise in time from death’s blow,

yet paradise — how incomplete it will always be

when the Light from True Love shines not on me.

And how I wonder if such is even true.

And how I wonder if such I ever knew.

And how I wonder to purposeful days

if love for love harmonizes in harmonious ways.

And how my children mean so much,

yet how that meaning is frustrated such.

And how my heart was torn and degraded

by their father, who stole and mutilated

what our life could’ve been

with his spiritual depravity from sin.

And by and by, I keep going –

changing, rearranging, & stabilizing,

yet how it means nothing to those with hearts black,

who blend not the white for grounds of grey back.

And how the world destroys me bit by bit,

from other’s greed, jealousy, and spit.

And how I wander, no longer lost,

finding my way at any cost.

This is all I have to make my name:

words of living that I’ve played this game.



For You, Dad

A year and a half later,

I visit your grave:

not to weep and not to mourn,

but for my identity to save.

I’m your only child.

I’m the only girl.

I’m who God gave you

to bless me with your world.

How often I’ve forgotten

my potential inherited from you.

How often I’ve overlooked

who I am and what I do.

Here is where I remember

this connection within myself.

Here is where I feel the reality of real.

Memories answer questions.

What happens communicates response.

Response results in doing,

living my life from your loss.

Guided Grace, be on my side

pushing away my pain and pride.

Eloquence and elegance

engage miraculous magnitude.

Without you leaves my vision of me

from your instilled amplitude.


How is it some things some people already know?

It’s not just social cues that let it all go.

Somehow, there’s this interwoven quality

not everyone can feel and not everyone can see.

It’s disputed. It’s God. It’s philosophy.

It’s perspective. It’s broad. It’s dichotomy.

There’s a depth to be seen in people’s eyes,

but how deep you can see depends on how wise

you are to see into the depths of your own eyes.


What sets a part some people from others?

Sensitive demeanor? Aesthetics?

Emotional elucidation? Philosophy?

Something dead inside you?

Something dead reborn everyday?

Something you recognize cannot die entirely?

A creative expression tempered with energy spasms?

How did time of life lived zip-file in one year?

How did subtle recognition language is expressions

of reflecting pools of liquid mirrors of mercury

suffice subliminal mind?

The rational way to die.

The emotional way to rebirth.

Spring River

Petrify the hornet nest.
Piece together earth’s puzzle pieces
with dried riverbank clay.
The wind blows louder than trains.
Earth is still breathing
beneath your feet.
Heart is still beating
beneath the deep.