And the rain is falling on her again in this place
The water splashes softly on her delicate crying face
As the tears slide slowly past her cheeks and quivering lips
She sighs dejectedly to herself, wondering where she slipped
She's just a perfect little doll; all plastic and pretty
With all the clothes, the shoes, the hair, the toys, and the money
A perfect little doll crying alone in the rain
And lets the cold raindrops wash her tears away
Thunder rumbles in the far away distance; drowning out her quiet sobs
And the lightning illuminates her crying solitude to the rest of the plastic mob
There is a profound loneliness in this dressed up girl
Nothing is as she thought it would be outside of Daddy's world
But Daddy's not around to help his crying little child
And she lies alone in her bed wearing a painted on plastic smile
So she goes with the girls to the parties and the games
And she goes through man after man barely remembering their names
Those are the sunny days, full of drunken fun and willing boys
And the rising sun finds her crying in shame next to her sleeping toy
Shivering, she cries to herself, for herself, yet she doesn't cry alone
Her parents cry dearly to the One who is leading her through the storm
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
The Fight
We started the fight and circled around
Each hoping the other would end up on the ground
The yells and the screams from inside and out
Drove us on to the fight; into the bout
We swung with the left; swung with the right
Bound and determined to win this fight
But the harder we fought; the longer we stood
The more we fought to keep our cool
The punches kept coming but we never quit
We fought on through the blood to finish it
So we swung with the right; swung with the left
And as each blow landed; we hated ourselves
We felt the impact; felt the blood flow
Felt the bones break and the joints implode
And in the back of our heads; in that quiet voice
We knew that the fight was our own choice
You could have gone your way; and I mine
But we both knew that just would not slide
So we met in the dark and let the punches fly
Both of us knowing that it was do or die
The voices droned on and colors blurred
And we kept on fighting, bloody and hurt
We never took a rest; never talked it out
We just beat at each other, as blood flowed about
The punches kept flying and we both went down
Lying in puddles of tears and blood on the ground
Time has gone on but wounds aren't healed
And the secrets down deep in our souls were revealed
And as the rain pours down, washing away the stains
The truth is revealed in the clearest way
All my spilled blood, shed tears, and broken bones
Came from a fight between myself and me alone
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Who I Am
I Am:
...a son of the King. I am a son of the Most High; Immanuel; the Lamb; the Lion of Judah; Jehovah Jirah; Adonai; Father.
...saved. By grace, I am saved, through faith. Certainly, not by any strength of my own, but only through the power of Jesus Christ, the one and only Son of the Living God.
...loved. I am loved by God the Father. I am loved by the Son, Jesus Christ. I am loved by the Holy Spirit. I am loved by my family and friends. I am loved.
...unique. There is no one like me. You might come close, but you are not and never will be me.
...strange. My eccentricities are my own. I'm strange. There are things that I like that no one else does. I don't think sometimes; just react. I say weird things a lot of times. That's just me.
...introverted. Sometimes, I just need to get away from everybody. Sometimes, I need to be by myself.
...a pilgrim. This a strange land. I'm just passing through.
...broken. I don't have all the answers. I don't know why. I mess up. I make mistakes. I screw up big time. I am not perfect.
...a student. I'm learning all the time. In college, but mostly out of class.
...a nerd. Star Wars, Disney....we're just scratching the surface. I fit the stereotype quite well.
...a friend. I have wonderful friends who have become a second family to me in so many ways, edifying and breaking down and sharpening.
...a fan of wolves. I think they're so very cool. Solitary but part of a larger pack.
...a singer. I sing in the shower, in bed, in the car, in public, wherever. Might not be good to you, but it is to me.
...getting older. It's bad when little kids don't remember shows and music that you grew up on. And what's with all the joints popping everytime I move? Someone get me a cane.
...unfinished art. God is constantly at work on me, chipping away, sculpting, painting, making me into His masterpiece.
...a murderer. My sins put Jesus on the cross, drove the nails, guided the whip, and slowly killed Him.
...redeemed. My sins put Jesus on the cross, but His love kept Him there; to die for me and offer me redemption.
...freaked out by stop-motion animation. Yes, that means that the Rudolph and Frosty the Snowman Christmas programs give me the creeps.
...child-like. I like to have fun, even if that means being completely stupid.
...thankful. I'm thankful for so many things. Check my earlier blog for a partial list.
...a fan of laughter. I like to laugh. I like to hear other people laugh with or at me; it doesn't matter. The laughter of a child is the best.
...a son of the King. I am a son of the Most High; Immanuel; the Lamb; the Lion of Judah; Jehovah Jirah; Adonai; Father.
...saved. By grace, I am saved, through faith. Certainly, not by any strength of my own, but only through the power of Jesus Christ, the one and only Son of the Living God.
...loved. I am loved by God the Father. I am loved by the Son, Jesus Christ. I am loved by the Holy Spirit. I am loved by my family and friends. I am loved.
...unique. There is no one like me. You might come close, but you are not and never will be me.
...strange. My eccentricities are my own. I'm strange. There are things that I like that no one else does. I don't think sometimes; just react. I say weird things a lot of times. That's just me.
...introverted. Sometimes, I just need to get away from everybody. Sometimes, I need to be by myself.
...a pilgrim. This a strange land. I'm just passing through.
...broken. I don't have all the answers. I don't know why. I mess up. I make mistakes. I screw up big time. I am not perfect.
...a student. I'm learning all the time. In college, but mostly out of class.
...a nerd. Star Wars, Disney....we're just scratching the surface. I fit the stereotype quite well.
...a friend. I have wonderful friends who have become a second family to me in so many ways, edifying and breaking down and sharpening.
...a fan of wolves. I think they're so very cool. Solitary but part of a larger pack.
...a singer. I sing in the shower, in bed, in the car, in public, wherever. Might not be good to you, but it is to me.
...getting older. It's bad when little kids don't remember shows and music that you grew up on. And what's with all the joints popping everytime I move? Someone get me a cane.
...unfinished art. God is constantly at work on me, chipping away, sculpting, painting, making me into His masterpiece.
...a murderer. My sins put Jesus on the cross, drove the nails, guided the whip, and slowly killed Him.
...redeemed. My sins put Jesus on the cross, but His love kept Him there; to die for me and offer me redemption.
...freaked out by stop-motion animation. Yes, that means that the Rudolph and Frosty the Snowman Christmas programs give me the creeps.
...child-like. I like to have fun, even if that means being completely stupid.
...thankful. I'm thankful for so many things. Check my earlier blog for a partial list.
...a fan of laughter. I like to laugh. I like to hear other people laugh with or at me; it doesn't matter. The laughter of a child is the best.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
3:27 (Empty Page)
It's 3:27 in the morning
And I lie here still awake
Listening to the silence so deafening
While I wait for sleep to overtake
There's a small journal across the room
Unopened, unmarked, unused
But faithfully it sits as shadows loom
A picture of myself and my doom
So beautiful are the unmarked pages
Unspoiled, waiting to hold the words and letters
So terrifying and paralyzing are the mistakes
To inevitably mar something so much better
So much potential to be released on the paper
So many lives to reach and hearts to touch
And yet this is temporal and a vapor
Will this be enough?
Will You write my story on the stars
For them to sing for all eternity?
Or will you write my story on their hearts
For only You and I to sing?
It's 3:27 in the morning
And I lie here; an empty page
Listening to You writing out my story
While I watch the smile on Your face
And I lie here still awake
Listening to the silence so deafening
While I wait for sleep to overtake
There's a small journal across the room
Unopened, unmarked, unused
But faithfully it sits as shadows loom
A picture of myself and my doom
So beautiful are the unmarked pages
Unspoiled, waiting to hold the words and letters
So terrifying and paralyzing are the mistakes
To inevitably mar something so much better
So much potential to be released on the paper
So many lives to reach and hearts to touch
And yet this is temporal and a vapor
Will this be enough?
Will You write my story on the stars
For them to sing for all eternity?
Or will you write my story on their hearts
For only You and I to sing?
It's 3:27 in the morning
And I lie here; an empty page
Listening to You writing out my story
While I watch the smile on Your face
Saturday, January 6, 2007
Quiet Rest
I came here to the place I died before now
Driven by some nameless urge; not knowing why or how
The rock still stands where the casket lies
Surrounded by the broken shards of that past life
I stood and listened and waited for something unknown
Something or someone to show me a path all my own
But no one came; all stayed silent
And I stood alone in the midst of the quiet
No smiles or handshakes or laughter to face
Just myself, a tree, and a rock in this place
And that when the wind came; a soft, subtle breeze
Flowing in through the trees and dancing with the leaves
And in the dull winter air all that's left is to breathe
Because the person I was searching for was here before me
His voice on the wind whispered so soft, so sweet
The winds caresses were His thoughts concerning me
And there I sat swept away, uncaring about what's next
Finding what my spirit had longed for; quiet rest
Driven by some nameless urge; not knowing why or how
The rock still stands where the casket lies
Surrounded by the broken shards of that past life
I stood and listened and waited for something unknown
Something or someone to show me a path all my own
But no one came; all stayed silent
And I stood alone in the midst of the quiet
No smiles or handshakes or laughter to face
Just myself, a tree, and a rock in this place
And that when the wind came; a soft, subtle breeze
Flowing in through the trees and dancing with the leaves
And in the dull winter air all that's left is to breathe
Because the person I was searching for was here before me
His voice on the wind whispered so soft, so sweet
The winds caresses were His thoughts concerning me
And there I sat swept away, uncaring about what's next
Finding what my spirit had longed for; quiet rest
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