Nothings

In doing nothing there's accomplishment:

In abandoning the computer

To see an art exhibit down the street

And running into an old friend,

In climbing a mountain

And feeling the pleasant burning in your calves,

In painting your nails green,

In putting up fairy lights,

In making a flower crown

With your own two hands

Because no one said you couldn't.

Five fathoms down

Whales make their songs;

In small goods,

God is present.

Untitled

Imperfect, imperfect sinner:

broken, torn in the race. In

need of our noble Healer,

In need of His own grace, My

child, 

In need of His own grace. 

Perfect, perfect is our Saviour: Redeemer,

Healer, Friend. In our rebellious

behaviour, That He would condescend,

My dear, 

That He would condescend.

Close yet so far

The closer I get to you the less I feel, like walking up a mountain to feel the warmth of the sun only to be met with snow. I know you now more than ever, and yet I am a stranger. My prayers have grown shorter as my walk has only gotten longer. I feel like a liar claiming I found you when you are nowhere in sight. 

Close yet so far 

Faith, like an endless staircase, climbing till my legs give out. Only to realize I'm still on the first floor. A never-ending hallway, running until I can't breathe, and yet I haven't taken a step. 

Close yet so far 

Surrounded by flames burning bright in your name, the heat does not reach me. My faith, a candle, next to their blaze. Wading through living water, my clothes remain dry. Surrounded by your light, and yet I cannot see your hand at work all around me. It is within reach, but beyond grasp. 

Close yet so far 

I can never reach you no matter how hard I try. A 1,000 lifetimes would not be enough. But it was you who grabbed my hand. You reassure me, through all my struggles and doubts. For I am in your grasp Lord, You will never let me go. 

Snowflakes

How they dance and twirl in gaiety 

Delightful in glide, graceful in stride 

Delicate in form, strength in unity 

Great are they, arrayed in power and pride 

Those ladies and lords in opulence shine 

Fixating the mind in rapture and wonder 

Squall’s ministers that come in their due time 

Many a merry lands do they plunder 

Gently hurtling down as silver stars 

The very tears of heaven captured in ice 

A taste of the glories waiting afar 

 Such beauty that comes without a price 

O, mortal man, cans’t thou not see

What blessedness thou hast and yet to be

Blink

This is why we blink 

To capture and process the crucial. 

But at our college, we go to the Blink, 

Our snackshop haven in the pre-break hurricane 

To capture and process the crucial 

Fingers freeze, like time, to pints of Java Jolt 

Our snackshop haven in the pre-break hurricane

Pausing for hard-earned quesadillas, string lights, Bing Crosby 

Fingers freeze, like time, to pints of Java Jolt 

And like ancestral Scots in battle's lull 

Pausing for hard-earned haggis, folksongs in the dark 

We are Blinking in finals' midnight eye 

But like ancestral Scots in battle's lull  

We have to ask: what are we fighting for? 

We are Blinking in finals' midnight eye 

But only a thin diploma will prove the war 

We have to ask: what are we fighting for? 

I know we'll graduate in memory-loaded regalia 

But only a thin diploma will prove the war 

So I blink. Suddenly, my friends are glowing again, Christmas lights unboxed—

I know we'll graduate in memory-loaded regalia 

So this is why we Blink: 

To unbury the lights beside us, and battle on seeing. 

At our college, we Blink to blink. 

Villanelle on First Snow

A long a weary march the year has been,

And fraught with forks and fear along the way,

Yet Christmas Snow is falling, soft and sweet.

Though pricks and pins of joy we each have seen, 

Still oftener sorrow shadows close of day—

A long and weary march the year has been.

“God Rest Ye” now, as flurries fly, and meet

The Lion—savage shepherd—infant made;

For Christmas Snow is falling, soft and sweet. 

Hear his story, listen and believe!

We do not walk alone this weary way—

At every mile marched, he too has been.

Come rest, and laugh, and weep, and taste and see—

His story told is yours, with him your place.

Fall free on Christian rest—soft grace, snow-sweet. 

Savior’s feast is spread for us to eat;

Old Winter’s wind blows brighter merry flames!

For long and weary is the year indeed—

Yet Christmas snow soft-speaks Eternity. 

Nevertheless

How my heart tends to wander

Nevertheless I am yours, you hold me

My eyes rove away from thy holy throne

Nevertheless thy grace reverts my gaze.

Love cold as winters breath oft fleeting

Nevertheless your steadfast love pursues my heart 

How many ways more than iniquity, you cover

O! How I long for a soul mended and whole

Nevertheless, Nevertheless, you will hold me

Until in glory eternal Thou shall embrace me at last

Echo

Distance is not a mediator

A mountain is not an altar

How far?

Hold the cards close to your chest

Another star

Nearer than the rest

A voice, just an echo 

Chamber of daydreams

The heart is beginning to lean

How many?

Every time I planned my future

Do you believe any?

The ways you lean on her

A song, just an echo

And it echoes from the peaks

It haunts you in your sleep

Why?

My beloved is your no one

Do you cry?

My place is not a home

It’s just another echo

Learn to Love it All

I now sit under a tree 

Covered in scarves of spanish moss

That blow in the breeze.

How sorrowful that we so easily forget

Or become blind to the beauty of the wind breathing,

The warm touch of the sun to the spirit,

The tranquil treasures 

And hidden blessings

Of this earth-life.

Oh heart,

Learn to love every breath,

Every moment in time,

Because so fast, 

The days die.

Oh spirit,

Learn to grasp for peace,

Learn to let go of the fears,

And gaze upon the glory of the horses galloping freely in the fields,

Of the sun sobbing 

Through the delicate cloths of spanish moss.

Oh soul, 

Learn to love it all

Before it is gone.

Narrow

I

The cool night closes; dawn rushes in.

Warmth emanates from the first rays of the sun.

As dew drenches the hills,

and the pebbly side of the path,

a flower is sprouting.

It pushes past petals and breaks

Free.

Blossoms unfurl and drink the light,

while roots dig, finding— 

cold stone, only.

The petals devour the light, heedless.

The rocky ground is littered with 

withered stems of char.

The sun unfurls.

II

We traverse the crumbling shale bridge,

suspended above the pit.

Screams,

many, many

from below.

As I watch, —a friend

collapses, rolls,

plummets

through the

darkness,

mingling.

I push on.

III

The smallest thing is me.

I gaze upon the dark Iris;

It draws me in and repels me;

It is the eye of God.

Who am I, to behold the unfathomable?

Swaths of chromatic glitter

Swirl around the pupil,

Contorting and twisting

In rhythm, spiraling inwards.

My mind tries to comprehend

The scale of the universe,

And it cannot.

IV

I weep over the charred body,

until it fades to vapor.

One ember remains.

I cast it into the singularity.

Restless

To be in this world 

Is to be not finding a home. 

Sure, I can walk alongside you 

And stop to rest by the pond. 

We can stay still watching so long 

That we see a sycamore leaf 

Fall off and break the painted glass of the water.

But I must turn back soon,

Let go the gift of your hand,

And return to my cinderblock room

That will be someone else’s in a year.

My Love Whom is Like Thee

In the receding light, in last ray 

When the bees slumber and crickets harp

In that sweet vale, sit with me in this bay

Where wind dances upon waters sharp 

The trees sway and weep to a silent song 

Come sit with me, my love 

Let our hearts sing harmoniously strong

One that only lovers true, can hereof

Dressed by the colors of the sun's dilation

In all of the realm of creation 

Yet one I’ve found surpasses them all

The Retreat of Life

Warm breaths in dying days, when the light wanes

As dirt turns to stone and paths don habiliments

Of auburn and memories. A mourner’s train

Trails along sylvan halls for she forlorns a love dead. Bent,

Tree’s canopies crumble beneath northern gales and western tear’s

But in waning hours I shall sit in glade and watch in sweet bliss

—I shall hold to the dying warmth and cling to that I hold dear—  

The procession, as the sun kisses me one last time