POETRY

The quiet pour into my thermos fills the little house with smells of caramel and coffee and home. The steps of my boots on worn hardwood floors echo against the dull hum of life that bleeds in from outside. My jacket rustles and the house groans as my keys jingle and find their place in my pocket. Early dawn light pushes through the branches of trees outside and dances against the drawn curtains of the bedroom window. I stumble slightly as I push her auburn- blonde hair to th

From the distant turns to the present path,  I recognize those same roads I once had wandered.  To see yet again the swaying trees and foreboding calm, to feel the emerald grass and gentle breeze, to know again that which once led to pain and strife.  I recall the lefts and rights, the choices and failures, all interwoven with the twists and turns of the path.  But something has changed… The treeline waves in the silence of a still calm, the grass brushes against feet more su

I can say “I don’t care” a thousand times,   But that doesn't change the burning in my chest,  the fire in my blood or rush in my head,  when I try to wrestle myself to sleep,  haunted by the thoughts of wanting more. I can say “I don't mind” a thousand times,   But that doesn’t change the pain in my hands,  the jolt in my feet and sting in my eyes,  when I wake in a rush at night,  fighting the fears of not being enough. I do care… I’d work through the dark and fight through

I left home to prove a point, to find if I was more than I felt. I left home to corner the self who always ran, to see who was left when I couldn’t quit. I left home to leave the past behind, memories of girls, work, love, and regrets. I left home to find something else, to see what the world was like in my own eyes. I left home… past the streetlights I’d grown up under, past the trails I’d run and streets I’d walked. … I left home and proved my point, only to mourn who I had

I want a nice brick house sitting on a green hill,  with a little wood shop shed beside a garden overflowing with life. I want a back porch tea room with windows  that fill with light in summer,  and glisten with the glow of a fireplace in winter.  I want a long drive that runs through trees  and a fence that keeps the world outside.  I want a little family gathering around me,  to pray and give thanks.  I want a small house for my parents at the end of the drive,  with books

I breathe in — cold, crisp air hollows in, then fills me. Not just my lungs. I am fuller. This air is purer than any I've known, a tidal...

My Heaven is not a gold white city, with emerald streets.  It is not a place with more,  but a place with less. A place much less...

Over the skyline, bright morning shall break, Apathy and pain, exposed to light's flame. Arise all you sleepers, yeomen of great, When...

I feared I had become the thing I feared most. What I was slipped away; what I became slipped after it. So what remained? The darker...