Trust

Trust--
Precious until broken,
Difficult to determine
If I should
Give that to you willingly,
Without hesitation

Trust--
A gift given or a penny earned
or a disposable diamond.
Yes, tis disposable
In my current usage,
No true conviction.

Trust--
Cautious and careful,
Developed overtime,
It should be earned.
Or should it?
Could it be assumed?
Granted firsthand until betrayed?

Both are practical and fair,
The second more naive--
Less cynical.
Do I trust you?
Do I dare?

New Year Poem 2014

It's a new year
new me?
No.
I'm still the same
but
everyone else thinks theyve changed
at the stroke of twelve
at the drop of a ball
they suddenly believe they can conquer all
The truth is
they fall into a slump one month in.

It's a new year
new resolutions
No.
New and impossible promises to oneself
we do the opposite
we move backwards
we conquer nothing once again.

It's a new year
new cynicism.

Keeping Things Whole by Mark Strand

In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.

We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.

We grow accustomed to the Dark by Emily Dickinson

We grow accustomed to the Dark -
When Light is put away -
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp To witness her Good bye -

A Moment -
We uncertain step
For newness of the night -
Then - fit our Vision to the Dark -
And meet the Road - erect -

And so of larger - Darknesses -
Those Evenings of the Brain -
When not a Moon disclose a sign -
Or Star - come out - within - The Bravest - grope a little - And sometimes hit a Tree Directly in the Forehead -

But as they learn to see -
Either the Darkness alters -
Or something in the sight Adjusts itself to Midnight -
And Life steps almost straight

Sugar

This sugar I ingested has given me cavities
Depravity is what bore this hole.
You cling to this sweetness
thinking it defeats weakness
when really, it weakens your soul.

You gave me this sugar and i took it gladly
But sadly I had to let you go.
For if i had kept you,
your ways would've spread to
my core and you'd be my foe.

So, I've left you my friend
except, I pretend that you don't matter to me anymore.
I wish you were here--
I'd call you my dear
and it'd be as it was before.

Right now it sounds tempting, this sugar you offer
I'll suffer if i take just one.
I know it will rot me
and sin will have caught me,
I'll drift further from the Son.

You're drifting further and further away
and you've saved me a succulent sweet,
but I know it is poison
I've known for awhile
I choose now not to accept defeat.

I don't mean to shame you,
I cant really blame you for sucking this sugar cube.
It's pleasant on the tongue,
At first, all is fun
until, the cube melts on your tongue
until, the bitter taste has come
and, you're left with dung on your lips,
and you vomit and you spit
I exaggerate now because i have seen it,
and I wish not to watch this time
its time I focus on me,
instead of changing unchangeable things.

so goodbye my sweet,
farewell my dear,
your sugar is no longer welcome here.

Hope

Hope in my God
Hope in my life
Hope in my good
Hope in my strife

The strife I face daily
The strife God sends to change me
To make me better
To rearrange me

As I stand raising my hands
In worship and in praise
And everyday, all days
I await his call for my name

The call to lead me towards his will
To take my pride
My insecurities
To take my sin
All my impurities
To take all things that lead me astray
So he can lead me, show me his way

Pro-Choice

Pro-Choice.
We toss this term,
It's black and white--
"I'm allowed to choose
I have this right!"

You're right in that,
but it is much more,
We each have a choice,
We each decide which door.

I choose that door!
Dressed in cap and gown.
No, now I choose that one,
although it may be run down.

I particularly like that one
painted in placenta and blood.
Oooh! and the one over there!
plastered with same genders in love.

Or the door on the far side
that has machinery and guns.
The door-handle is a trigger.
Well, that looks like fun!

There's the door covered in vomit!
I like that silhouette.
It brings out her skeletal figure,
As skinny as she can get.

I especially enjoy the burnt-out door.
It dances if you wish it too.
All you have to do is inhale the paint,
Then it will Irish jig for you.

I see another door
That is only painted black.
We often gravitate there
And rarely ever come back.

It holds all our evils
our horrible thoughts,
our selfish actions
and look! a bag of pot!

A surprise in every door!
We have all of these choices,
Yet we sit around and argue
just to hear our own voices.

I see a white door,
Gleaming and bright,
It holds something much greater;
Eternal love, eternal life--

Yet we gravitate away.
We cant take the light,
when our "wonderful" choices
lead us into plight.

We have the free-will,
yet we bicker and bruise em.
If only, if only
we could actually use em.

Pro-choice?
Okay, enough has been said.
Go do what you want,
you might end up dead.