I Do Not Write

I do not write for you, invisible existence. I write for He who knows my name and loves me still. I write to jot and scribble observations of a worldly, spiritual, existentialist nature. I say nature in conjunction, though mean to stand it fully by itself. The logical, visual, visceral, foreign methods of expression sit, nestled in a batch of words that seem more shallow than a drip’s pool; and, I pour into them with every gland and nerve of this body I was given. I dry myself with slow breathing, only to soak again and slosh about when I wake. I feel like a weathered, angry man when my wife wakes me for what I must do before going off to indentured servitude of a much less harsh variety than was prior to our country’s freedom. I do not ramble; I stroll amongst thoughts as would a day-tripper to the forest: with a sense that there must be a time to leave, but having very little care to get there. And, too, I sometimes stop short, before any sort of insight makes its way through the text I’ve laid to dry, but forgot I did not wash them first.

I forget myself as easily as my PIN for everything other than my debit card. You can see I am but a forgetful bit of man, sunken and raised at the same time, with a hairline border to keep me defined.

Every piece of writing seems so much longer and lasting when written than when read. That’s why I don’t go back to read: disappointment in myself for what my self has written and recorded. Funny, I envisioned my life and saw, long ago, a continued emphasis on what it is I loved: dictation and repetition.

His Mercy

His mercy
shines through
those simple musings on
what is right or wrong or
whatever grey area we make up.
In those
simple musings, He
gives us pause for choice, and we
can make ourselves who we want to be.
…That, my friends, is more than we do for ourselves.

This Lifetime

So, you say the days we had
Are over. I say they are some
Of my fondest memories, a
Testament to what a good thing
Can be when you don’t know
It can end. But, like you said,
“All must come to an end.” And
I shake my head slowly, knowing
You’re only right a little bit– I’d
Rather look at this lifetime, not
To the next, and– I’d rather look
At this lifetime, not the next.
Kickstarted my dying heart with
A chuckle from that corner of
The mind I hadn’t used in a while.
Looked to your face as you walked
Along the curb you kicked me to,
And you smiled the same smile
I last saw that November when
Your hands first met mine. I
Gave you a chance then, and I
Guess chance is returning to me,
So I will smile along and wipe away
The dry eyes with remember-whens
And how-abouts that now fill my
Mind but will not move my lips.

The best part is, we’ll be back together
Anyway.

Forgiveness follows us to the ends
Of the Earth, proving we can never
Run from who we are to be, as fate
Calls us by name and God loves
An agenda filled with coincidence,
Never a dependence on circumstance,
Despite the consequences, though all
Is in His great plan, which we see after.