Old younger self.

I have not been writing.
I am not too sure why,
And I worry.
As I read myself,
I wonder.
 
Sure,
I wrote less eloquently.
I don’t even understand some of the things I wrote.
The truth is,
I have become a heck of better writer.
 
However,
For what world?
 
When I read my past self,
I sense that one-of-a-kind soul.
That kid, 
Without too much fear of tomorrow.
Without too much care about fitting-in.
 
I began to ask myself,
What happened to me?
 
Why did I sell my soul?
To a world where—
People write the same way,
Speak the same way,
Dress the same way.
 
Did I lose myself,
Desperate to fit into someone else’s “perfect.”
 
That I had killed myself?
 
 

Two more sleeps.

Your cheeky smile,

Your lightness of being,

Your kind eyes,

Your clever wit,

Your face.

 

Two more sleeps.

A Thought for the Morning.

The sound of the keys,
gently pressed to create,
           grounding sounds and rhythm.
Calms my mind,
engaging my heartbeats.
Soft yet strong,
the melodies of existence.
Up and down,
           like life.
Never ceases to
           be wonderful.

He says.

All I can hear all day

are the sounds of my music,

singing psalms.

And the occasional whispers

of the blowing wind.

All this silence was

at first, confronting.

The realization of my dependence,

also yielded me

into easing to the rhythm of a graceful release.

In the moment we thought that

God is ever absent,

He is ever present and loud.

In all this stillness,

rest, He says.

Quiet;

be still,

He says.

In unison we stand down,

but only to our God Himself.

To again let Him run the notes and tunes;

all in His perfect synchrony.

The integration of His soul, to ours.

Yield,

surrender to His disruption.

Embrace His sweet cadence.

You’ll see,

your beautiful symphony is here.

In your quiet space:

listen,

He says.

Under the Disco Ball

It is in good solitude,

My pleasure lies.

In my long walks,

My soul liberated.

In my dimmed warmly lit room,

My place right.

But not for you,

You want everything;

All in the opposite styles.

Childlike,

Yet too serious.

Too serious,

Yet childlike.

This is the plain obvious

we stand on.

Through time,

Through experience,

Through love,

            

            We may collide again;

            Still never sure,

            But desires have won over fear.

Meanwhile,

Enjoy the crowd,

Sitting still,

Or dancing

Under the disco ball.

doxology.

if ever my Lord,

i am able to express in eloquent words.

how much i know i need you,

how much i want to praise you;

how much i am grateful.

i am not as lucid anymore,

a part of me went along the way.

i am seeking you to set me free,

burn my heart aflame;

remind it again of its genesis.

my healing balm only you are.

meanwhile,

you express my deepest thoughts in beautiful poetries.

even when i couldn't,

your will is done - 

in the quiet yet wildest songs of love.

so i will sing your praise,

when my own words fall short.

i will rise and wake,

sing of your love.

till my breath runs out.

for i don't have much left in me,

but i know you have all of me.

that kind.

In a sudden rush,

I was brought back to that split second.

Of that one smile that captured my heart.

The sheer smile, the perfect timing.

All in that second.

That life changing kind of second.

The smile accompanies me,

Through the jungle,

Conquering the wilderness.

In bus rides; in walks alike,

In my dozing off; in my awakening.

That kind of faithful friend.

Seizing me like no tomorrow,

The deep gaze into my innermost.

The firm hold of a guardian.

I rest in your boldness, and in your kindness.

I feel safe.

Just my favorite kind of soul.

I sit here across from you,

Yet I yearn to get closer still.

Never unwilling, you came close right by me.

I can almost feel your skin.

The one I feel I've known all my life.

Maybe that's it,

I've known you all my life.

And it's all coming back to me!