Story I wrote about a year ago:

A Harvest Day

I still remember the smell of his lamb-fur jacket. I was five, he was seventy-three. An odd duet some would say; however I would say that our song was the most beautiful of all. At such a ripe age, I can say that he inspired me. His kindness, his compassion, and his understanding were truly Christ-like. I remember running through the corridor just to embrace him. He would pat me on the head and give loving words of encouragement. I can still remember soaking my pillow with tears. Sobbing into the down and cotton. My mother tried to comfort me in my grief, a feeling she was quite familiar with. Her words rang through my ears like a melody. The score she was writing me could not take image out of my conscious. It was an image of my beloved old friend, giving his last breaths to the leaves and his last words to a Lord that loved him so. I came to a crossroads on that evening. The trail that I chose was full of snarls and snags, but my feet were always firmly planted. Now at the age of 23, the idea of my friend still lingers with me. He is with every movement I make, reminding me to walk in love like he did.

Eat Up, Drink Up

The doctors and pharmacists insist on growing up,
And as much as I hate pills and plans,
I guess I’d tend to agree.
You see we get through this life,
We eat, we sleep, we die,
But someday I’d like to look at my wife,
And say we lived without a lie.

Drink up drink up, from this bitter cup.
Eat up, eat up, and swallow it all down.
Once the taste sets in, spit it out with glee,
And realize there is more for you and for me.

When my skin is all cracked and dry,
And darkness is setting in.
I hope that each of my closest kin,
Look down on my body.
They will say:
He will rest in His peace, because he lived in His plan,
And the vultures will have rest tonight for this is sacred land.

random poem

With the brilliance that is gold
And a bitter tasting tounge
You beat his head into the ground
And claim what god to you bestowed.
With that flame behind your eyes,
You take and take and take and take
On the constant quest for more,
You eat a starving child’s meal.

Is this the world of which we are born?
All calloused, rotten and hard?
I try and try and try to walk in love,
But I am not entirely sure what that means.

Rhythms and patterns, zeros and ones,
You became flesh and showed what is love,
Anguish unsaid, Debts unpaid.
You made the wine and we drank your blood.