September 23rd 2012

Why does she look at us with eyes so cold, un-speaking, unresponsive to our tormented screams. We rip the flesh from our body, willing the attached pain to end, but it lingers, crouching in our mind like a favorite pet. A thousand clawed nails dig into our back, the hands of those we failed to save, they remind us and remain with us, their unspeakable torment make up our screams. We don't know where to go, for how can we escape from ourself. We understand the extent to which they mock us,their jeers push us forward, keep us moving, for we must keep moving or die in our despair. And this we dare not do. We have much to make up for, and they call us, they call us forward. There is nothing left, naked and alone I am, no strength, no light, no hope. More a mangled piece of meat then human. I have nothing left to give. Daddy help me, Daddy save me from my own created torment, from my expansive self-inflicted pain.

August 18th 2012

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august 11 2012

I'm overwhelmed with my own inability to act.
I'm overwhelmed with my own inability to care.
Numbed by pain overlaid with self-satisfaction.
Watching, waiting, pacing, bound tight by restless energy.
With only One can we connect, with only One can we forgive, with only One can we expand our world beyond the limitations of imagination.
Bound by love, overlaid by an incomparable graciousness, overwhelmed only by a power too great to express, too boundless to comprehend;
in the expanse of which all eternity is encompassed.

July 24th 2012

The light streamed in and danced across the wall, while the breeze set branches waving, creating patterns of shadow, telling a story only they knew. The breeze whispered a kiss to the child who slept, full of promise and expectation. The child opened her eyes, still full of fading dreams. Looking about her surroundings the child saw the raw materials necessary to build what she saw in her waking dream. She struggled with frustration against the limitations gravity had placed on her, finally screaming with frustration, screams which brought a concerned mother. 'Not yet, not yet', the breeze whispered. The trees nodded in acquiescence. The child was comforted and ceased her cries. Her mother laid her once again in her crib. Smiling, the child tried to catch bits of light in her hand, and the light smiled.

April 10

We call together the watching spirits from their place of silent solitude to observe the strands of thought gathered together to create this thing we call time. Their presence opens a door, long held shut, a door to nowhere, bound by shear force of will.
She must remember the place she came from, she must feel the screams she ran from.
Torn asunder, the doors frame shivers and crumbles away, leaving nothing but a flood of memory, pure streaming, gathering strength.
Limbo is no longer as substantial as it seemed, it's sharp corners and jagged edges folding in.
Stepping from the waiting room, she takes one painful step after another, but at least she feels every step.

March 26 2012

My hope hung on a strand so small, it was merely made of the stuff of dreams.
Tormented it was by the dying wish of a man grasping for air under the weight of a thousand chests filled to the brim with a gasp for air.
"Where do we go, where do we go", they scream their weary sigh.
Time passes and sound dissipates, ripples in the water speak to the once born, long forgotten souls.
Language unlearned, communication freeborn on the wind.
Where is there something worth remembering, how do we remember what is worth saving, how do we save a long forgotten dream dashed to pieces by the torrent of night we call day.
Beaten by the very thoughts that kept us alive.

January 20th

I wait for the distant storm to rather in,
The rolling of the clouds rushing towards their destination, saturated by flashes of anger awoken, ripping through the sky and earth, melding them into one.
Forces within, forces without, rushing forward, rushing inward,
Colliding at a head in a grand clash of symphonic sound.
Quiet my soul, quiet my God,
You’ll awake the sleeping giant, restlessly turning in slumber deep.
Maybe he will always turn so, trapped in a nightmare, trapped in a waking dream.
The alternative is unknown.
But the rushing forward, inward, outward, continues, barrelling into the depth.
The crash will come, and the giants eyes open.