A Word To My Reader
I am not a perfect voice calling out in the dark, but a broken voice calling out in the dark. I have not said anything perfectly, nor have I ever touched on perfection flawlessly. Every element I speak on found here will fall short on every degree because of the breadth and width of which the topic expands (both logically and emotionally). In fact the only thing I can come closest to in explaining perfectly would be my brokenness, because that, I know better than perfection. I can only try to speak about the glimpses of perfection I have seen in my life. Please bear that in mind as you read. I hope that these compositions can bring further light to the honest depths and heights that life teaches us about ourselves, the world around us, and the starter of this all, God.
As Phillip Lopate says, in reading this you will learn more about my “habits of thought” than the activities that actually make up my day to day. I do not assume that most will want to read any of this, but for the one who is feeling lost or confused, for the one who is trying to find reason to keep living, for the one who is fighting against himself, others, or his God, and desiring to better understand why, I hope these pieces of writing might be a friend to you. I hope they push you to press on, to appreciate living (and working), to appreciate the smallest of moments with a family member, close friend, or stranger. I hope they move you to explore and imagine, to find the “why” behind anything, and to trust that though we have a finite understanding, the One who is infinite has been made accessible to mankind. Mankind meaning you and me, and there is no small amount of peace to be found in that truth.
P.S. I attached a song to the bottom of each composition to accompany its reading. Enjoy!
Letters They’ll Never Read
(February 1, 2023)
Just fine sitting in the in-between
At peace with the state of unknowing
Writing letters they will never see
This knowledge brings you practical ease
Frank words you know they’ll never read
Freedom to write in full honesty
And these the ones you let your heart cling
With no chance of failure or dying thing
No other involved, affecting dreams
You alone, power to tip feelings
Snap of the finger, heart is retrieved
Dropping all trace of affectionate glee
Or, if wishes desire to be,
Love held for stubborn eternity
Unrequited love, alright with thee
They, no knowledge, like took no seed
And so, just a past of imagining
You move back on to reality
Snap of the finger, awoke from the sleep
But still you slip in and out of the dream
An Analysis on Communication
(June 2019)
We speak in codes and metaphors, Both to hide things and reveal them. To speak so frankly could be either too brash or too cheap. For most treasured things are quite tender and “worthy of some sort of protection.” To hide a meaning in hopes of one discovering. To speak about things deeply in order for one to dig deep to understand. There is value brought in an answer that must be unearthed. For a jewel hidden in the dark is given more weight and more value when searched for all night and finally found.
The rarity of a feeling, when two feel them so rarely. To dig and find, to uncover that feeling conceded by another, makes one cherish. There is no tarnish. Once brushed off, it is but one of the purest and most sacred of all. For the decoder took just as much effort to seek the matter out as the one who had sought out those rarities found within their own heart first... and then, in efforts to be known by the most daring, resolved to speak about them with such cipher, hiding it while also revealing the slightest corner, as if to send out an invitation to the most meek, yet bold, to venture forward in expedition to understand their words of code and metaphor.
The Third Time
(March 7, 2018)
It was the third time I answered, the same as before
Why must I repeat it twice and once more?
It may not be true, but it must be said
Otherwise, I too would be covered in red
For if I spoke right and told the truth
There would be more than just one, there would be two
But at the third time, the clock struck, and the bird sounded
My eyes widened, my heart pounded
I shifted my vision to look away from my lies
Grabbing at anything that would help me survive
But I knew exactly what He knew
And I did exactly what He said I would do
So like a baby, my eyes stumbled to His
(The very God-man Judas had deceitfully kissed)
And just as an archer, I would not miss
And so they wobbled to the only One who could comfort
The very same One I betrayed; the very One I hurt
And in that moment when our eyes touched, I lost my vision though I was not trying
For my eyes were filled with liquid, and I found that I was crying