In a desolation that’s fraught with danger, here I stand alone, a stranger. In this land not my home, I’m sent as a minister; yet from the ground to the sky, nature is sinister.
Crack in the Clouds
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Poems
Sun-Reflector
Artist, noun: A soul that doesn’t believe it’s made of stardust, and so it searches for a home in every crease of a fingerprint, smudged between strokes of brush buildings and canvas walls.
Resting Heartbeat
Mountains are where I’ll lay my head, and in the ocean’s trench I’ll rest my feet till the stars above show me the path I’ve led.
This Is Magic
I was born with the sun on my skin and the wind in my hair. Everywhere I looked, I felt the beauty of creation and the hurt we bring to it. Autumn’s tradition perplexed me as I strove to find why the trees cast off their abundant green gowns into showers of red and gold in return for winter’s careless mantle of snow on their bony frames.
Pruning
Father! Father! What are you doing sawing the branches of our apple tree? Won’t the tree hurt with all those cuts? Won’t it look ugly?
Evangelism
I’ve come all the way here to talk to you. I have come from birth and teething rings and standing up and falling down and stealing toys and riding bikes and building forts and telling lies and driving cars and texting friends and rebirth all the way to you in an empty McDonald’s corner booth around nine in the evening.
Silent Aches
I have always been able to describe the ache—the ache in my shoulders from sitting too long, the ache in my eyes from crying too much, the ache in my heart from missing you, the ache in my hands from holding the cry of my knotted heart.
Every Star in Between
My soul weeps, and its tears glisten in the fading sunlight; emotions run out into the open, empty air of aloneness. On my skin, they trim their graves with salt and leave the ground beneath them thirsty and cracked so that the light might reach my deepest places.
Edmund’s Sunset
Unbroken mists upon the water veil the island’s silhouette; just a shadowland, it caught her by its magic, in its clutch, with just a touch of violet amid an iridescent gray.
The Altar in My Heart
I don’t have a temple; I barely have a prayer. In the hollows of this empty church, I know that You are there. I find You in the silence, in the way the shadows fall, I find You in my heartbeat as it echoes from wall to wall.
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