Contradictory Cries

I see life,

As what it’s going to be,

Veiled by the way that it used to be,

Budding with what it could be,

And in constant conflict with what it is.


And the pounding winds,

Do their absolute best to remove my gaze from the promising Word standing atop of the beating waves.


Beckoning unto me,

Tantalizing me with sweet promises of failure,

That I once gave diligent ears and attention to,

Calling unto me,

Not only from the vocal distractions all around,

But also the captivating call that’s more familiar,

More audible,

More piercing,

More damaging.


The earth is about 70% water,

And 30% land,

I simply don’t think that it is by coincidence that we are too.


I don’t believe that it is by chance that the same elements that make up this planet that I stand upon,

Also form the feet that I use to stand upon it.


Dust to dust.


So as I stand here.

Inches away from the voice that initially bid me to come, and enjoy the miraculous experiences that I only watched from a distance, with dreamy and desirous eyes,

I have a choice.


A choice to listen to what’s ahead of me,

What’s around me,

Or what’s within me.


As I cautiously take step after step,

Which are snapshots of the supernatural in and of themselves,

I’ve come to a great realization.


It’s never been about noisy oceans,

Or anything external.


I’m learning to ignore the contradictory cries of the internal.


Of, me.












I am thoroughly convinced,

That all are born with a dream,

A specific and perfect dream,

A thought,

An idea,

A seed of consciousness,

That once realized,







And harvested…

Will be far too vast to be concealed within its finite carrier…

With heights and depths that effortlessly surpass and exceed even the physical and metaphysical boundaries of the world upon which it will eventually be released…

It is, will be, and always has been…


Perhaps that’s the very reason for which it is currently invisible, and only resides inside the incubator of our thoughts and wafting passions…

Wouldn’t it be an epic tragedy to allow such a brilliant and glorious thing to die by the hands of our own fear and procrastination…











Scared Alone

It’s been years now.

But, the wafting memories of you are still present, no matter how many times I try to unintentionally drown them in new experiences.

New feelings and emotions that I subconsciously chase after without even realizing the damage that I’m doing to myself.

And to them.

And to you.

Fighting with every ounce of dignity and righteousness that I have left to not become my father.

To not become the men in my lineage who were just as broken as I am and manifested that brokenness into relationships that were strong, and vibrant, and beautiful while they lasted,

But ended in quiet shame,

And guilt,

And letters that started with, “I apologize,”

Sincerity and honesty never hurt so well.

Running from the men they were, and toward the man that I am still becoming, just to hear a soft voice tell me, “You remind me of your uncle,”

Please, don’t tell me that.

Don’t tell me that I’m destined to repeat the victorious collapses of well-meaning but fallible men,

Who meant everything that they ever said,

Who felt every emotion that they ever expressed,

But couldn’t seem to bridge the gap of passion,

And commitment.

They never learned to love properly, perhaps.

Or at least, maybe they never learned to make that love extend over the course of at least two lifetimes.

I’m not sure.

But I can’t help begging the brightest of stars to come down to the darkness of my earth,

And tell me that things will be different,

Tell me that somehow my heart is not destined to experience the same,

While it pumps warm blood filled with their DNA through my veins.

I can’t seem to shake you off of me.
And I’ve tried, numerous times.
Believe me.

Everyone in the world could want me, except you,

And that’s more than enough to leave me feeling unwanted.

I don’t think you understand how loved you are.

Or maybe you do.

And that’s why you’re at a safe distance.

Your essence etched in the cell walls of my cerebellum and the cave walls of my heart still tell every passer-by a visual story of struggle.

The struggle between desire, and decay.

Want, and rejection.

Hope, and never.

And you stand in the center, arms outstretched to the east and to the west, holding on to tense ropes that both lead to me.

As I pull myself apart from the inside out, trying to understand why you.
So much.
To me.

I apologize for still loving you.
And the fact that I know that I do,

Scares me.

(am) I scared alone?


Inside the room of eternity,

Are jars of time,

That hold today’s troubles.

They can only hold so much.




Simple, careful, strides.

Across sand littered shores.


While the world’s oceans roar their enchanting song into the skies.

Calming the heart.

Easing the mind.


To no particular place,

But reaching destinations,


That are both unexpected,

And unfamiliar.

Cities of peace.

With towering architecture, reminiscent of proud monuments that have long crumbled to the ground.

Feeling the warmth of a dangerously close star,

As it kisses exposed arms and legs,

In an unrequested, but welcome fashion.


To no particular place.

But, perhaps, from the comfort of stagnation.





Skilled enough to subject a perception,

Cunning and masterful,

Duping the conscious mind into believing that they are nothing more than momentary glimpses into an intangible world of artistry, as interpreted and handcrafted by their designer.

When in fact,

They are your future.

Outlive every mistranslation of your motives,

Every failed attempt to rightly divide your words and actions,

Don’t allow their false prophecies of your character prove to be true.

Bring the picture,


That only you’ve seen,

To life.