keep my heart in purity....

The floors here are cedar lined.

The wood allows the vibrations from the bass

to pass through my feet, into my heartbeat.

A flaw in the wood marks perfectly,

the place where I stand.

And I am rooted to the place,

scared to lose a moment,

scared to miss a beat.

The lights fade, my hands raise

and I am swept away.

Caught in the music;

Changed.

I know that I was born for this

and my calling won't go amiss.

The walls were once a cranberry color,

but now are hidden by posters and propaganda. 

My eyes pass quickly over them

memorizing their rich texture and vibrant words.

I am distracted, but the knot in the floor is where I stay.

The pounding in my heart, just will not go away.

I am exactly where I belong today.

And I pray:

"Lord, keep my heart in purity"

And I, again, am swept away.

Torn from iniquity, bound by grace.

And it is today, like tomorrow and yesterday

that I, again, am saved.

Lead by a cedar lined transfer of bass,

into my heart - initiated by grace.

Courage?

There's something oddly peaceful about sitting in a waiting room.
You're in no hurry, you have no where to be.
You are, at the moment, exactly where you belong.
Not only that, but everyone keeps to themselves.
Its not a social hour and it seems like that is common knowledge.
Every once in a while you get a talker.
But those are the people it's hard not to feel sorry for.
And you begin to wonder about their lives.
Why are they in a public place sharing their personal stories with complete strangers?

Why is everyone else nodding along, politely?

But, now I know.

She has two cats; Smokey and Rolo.

And they are her family.

Coming here to this waiting room is her only human contact for the day.

I now feel more than sorry.

I feel like there's something I am supposed to do.

But, what?

If only she knew that we are, essentially, all alone.

That is, without God, anyways.

And I wonder, does she have a church family or a relationship with God?

My heart pounds to ask, but I can't muster up the courage.

Then my name is called and it is time that we must part ways.

And I am discouraged, have I  missed another opportunity?

;; disconnecting

You make this face.

Your lips purse and your nostrils flare up into a point.

But even before it has come down to this

I have sensed your distaste.

But, this face is your masterpiece

And you will make it at every turn we take.

I have placed such a sour taste in your mouth

But you hunger and return for more

Leaving me ashamed with a memory, a scar.

And you sing:

"If you want me, satisfy me"

And I forget to hold on.

But you will wrap me up on the return

Today, tomorrow, again I will be your number one.

And I will turn from stone to salt to sand

Buried beneath your misguiding hand.

And as water I will run, fill the spaces

Built into place a foundation solid upon that face that you make.

Welcome me in your bitter embrace

And I will cry and believe your lies, lies, lies.

And then we travel, see the world

But you have your hand pressed tight into a blindfold

And I cannot see, you have now hidden the world from me

And I will learn bittersweet

Make your sour face my own masterpiece.

No one will keep me from being able to see.

You will no longer be disconnecting.

keep it secret, keep it safe

I walk down a hall.

Cinderblocks box me in.

Rough and callous beneath my fingertips.

I do not know why I am here,

I can not see a purpose.

Yet, I continue to walk, hoping.

Soon I begin to smell smoke

and panic rises in my chest.

How will I get out?

But, then I soon realize it is a scent memory.

Laughter, a single acoustic guitar, old hymns sung out of tune.

I am a child.

Marshmallows are burnt and making my fingers sticky.

But, each lick is so satisfying.

My mother encourages me to place my marshmallow between crackers and chocolate making what she calls a s'more.

All I know is that she is right. 

After this first one... I will want s'more.

The rough, callous surface turns smooth.

The smoke disappears.

I am again captivated in memory.

Street lights, patterns, "as surely as the sun", insomnia.

I am fourteen.

I am restless, awake.

But, I am scared.

I am scared to move, to wake the beast.

The surface is again, rough.

I awake.

I am twenty, no longer asleep.

My thoughts exactly as they are, a memory.

As dark turns to dusk I am discouraged.

Next time, will I awake?

well, there's always a first....

I am a writer.  It's pretty much what I do.

So, I ask myself - why haven't I blogged until now?

But, the truth is: I have tried.

Many, many times and failed.

I just could never pull myself away from the

raw simplicity that is pen and paper.

But, here I am.

Why now?  Why this time?

I have no answer except that I just wanted to write.

One day I aspire to be a published author.

I want to write fiction, but fiction that will change lives.

The first time I read books like: Twilight, Harry Potter, Spindle's End, The Hobbit...

I came away changed, everything about me seemed to be different.

I want to be that kind of writer.

So, I at least have to get my stuff out there for people to see.

And let's face it... No one gets to see my journals, my paper and pen...

It's just not gonna happen.

So, here I am - self-published.

Hoping to be read.

Hoping to be the change.