Posted in My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

“I can feel the weight of these memories, so large that I can’t carry anything new into my tomorrows. At some point I have to make a choice, but I’m afraid that, even after all these years, I’m still going to choose anybody but me…”

Falling down takes time, and has layers, and can even appear beautiful. It’s sort of like a sunset on the beach in late September. It’s not truly autumn, so every evening is ushered in on the tail-end of a dying summer breeze. The light from the Sun plays games with that not so warm air, flickering more, almost dancing, as it descends onto the horizon. The space between the Sun and the Earth, the Earth and the sky, the skyline and the edge of our planet, stretched out across the deepest of blues reflected in the open Sea… For a brief moment, you can close one eye, and these vast distances and heavenly bodies all fit in the space between your thumb and index finger. 

But the moment is only that, a moment.

The Sun keeps on dancing as it slips over the edge of the world. The breeze keeps on twirling, the oceans are swirling, but it’s all beginning to fade into the background as the Moon and the stars take their positions. The transition is peaceful, poetic even, and I find so much comfort in this daily sight. The world ends every day without a fuss. It takes time, but it’s never in a rush. The Sun goes down as its own pace, and it manages to stay beautiful every step of the way. So maybe falling down isn’t such a bad thing after all, so long as we remember that falling down always comes with the opportunity to rise again. 

Posted in My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics

Years may pass, but the Sun hasn’t changed; It’s the same every May, and so is the pain.

Speak to me, on bended knee!

“O sweet dreams, my dreary queen!”

Sail away on those ships of yours

Past the end, over the floors

Of a raging Ocean, with waves as tall

As my clouds, the love that won’t fall…

~My words on paper mean nothing at all, for in a moment of rage it can all be lost, tossed and torn, gone without a moment’s notice. I would prefer to write my words in the forever sky; my moments saved in a world solely for the heavens…~

Scream at me, the words you’ll never need,

Write them in the sky, so far from your seas.

The ships that you sail lack the wings

To carry you away with all of your things.

“My clouds are mine, the heavens untouched!”

So this love is mine; a pallet waiting on your brush…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“My thoughts are a ship, and I’m no sailor. But the prospect of sinking to the bottom of the sea…it doesn’t sound entirely terrible at the moment.”

You’ll find me in Belgium, on the coast of the North Sea. I’ll be swaying on the current, the salty spray of the tide running me towards the Strait of Dover. It bears my essence as it crashes, a crushing cerulean weight to turn rock into sand and sailors dreams into restless sleep. 

And somewhere in that swirl, I’m sure you’ll be there too. No matter how far I go, from shoreline to shoreline, begging refuge from coastguards and strange light towers, I never drift far enough to find an Ocean without at least an ounce of you.

I’ve taken to sleeping at the bottom of the Sea, because how could a shadow find me in that darkest of blues? It’s quite a long trip; exactly the type of long trip you expect from a one way ticket. But as the saying goes, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

In this curious case of a hopeless sailor, nothing ventured would be ideal. If only I could sail back, before Belgium and the sight of Dover. If only I could sail back, before the world I knew had you. If only I could sail back, never leaving the comfort of my own, familiar lighthouse.

If only I could sail back…perhaps I wouldn’t need to travel to the bottom of the Sea to find peace…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“You walk around in the shadow of your sins, looking for an Ocean to drown out the last dredges of your humanity.”

Whenever I’m alone, the darkness starts to set in, and I devolve into a mass of guilt and cruelty. I recognize my own sins for what they are; conscience decisions made in the face of a two-faced God. All of the good I’ve accomplished in this world is credited to my creator, while any evil committed in his name is still paid for with my blood? I am forced to bear the burden of being a creature who commits ill deeds by his own selfish desires, but my God, the center of the Universe, the benevolent God who created all, he takes none of the blame. I never asked for these feelings. I never asked to be brought into this world. I never wanted to have the choice, the human choice, to do wrong. Why would my God create an existence from such pliable clay? Leave me in the sun, and I melt away, or leave me in the cold, and watch my exterior crinkle and crack, until I’m a pile of hatred and regret. A good worker does not blame his tools, yes? So God cannot blame that clay. God cannot blame the stars he scattered, nor the Angels he banished. God cannot blame time, for he is timeless. He cannot blame the unknown, for he is all knowing. God cannot blame a single soul, for every inch of every soul was forged in his image, by his hands, and his hands alone. God cannot blame who I am on his failures, because he cannot fail. So I’m left taking on that weight; Mount Olympus on my back, the Garden of Eve the chip on my shoulder, and the words of a God who demands I accept him before he would ever accept me. Tell me, does a father need to have his son ask for help to receive it? Does a father not bear the responsibility, to look after and teach, to lead his children down a path of kindness? Is that not the role of a parent?

I was born with sin in my heart, because God told me so. I can only be forgiven through his blood, because he told me so. I must find God, and give my life to God, in order to be saved. That does not sound like a loving father. That sounds exactly like a prideful, arrogant, petty child. Those are the demands of a spoiled brat, the decision of someone with self imbued omnipotence.

God created me, and I am a mass of spineless sins, choking on the despair born in the very first thought of my existence. I am blamed for all that is wrong, while it is demanded I return all acts of good back into the hands of my creator. O what a truly merciful God! What a completely outstanding  example of fatherly love! What a marvelous, magical, monstrous saviour, our so called merciful Lord!

In the end, I cannot rely on God to fix me, because he has nothing to do with me. I must reforge myself from the scarps of my soul I’ve scattered across the skies and the seas, until I have saved enough of me to walk towards a heaven where I can truly be free.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I’m lost in this shallow water, and I’m wondering if I should just lay down and let myself drown.

I am captive to this lonely heart,

For it travels where my body can find no haven,

And so my soul becomes the ship

Lost among the rolling sea foam,

Breaking the shores only to circle back,

Back to where it all began..

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

It’s embarrassing to have to turn down every potential swimming adventure because you don’t want to ruin the fun when they see all those scars, those mistakes you obviously haven’t learned a damn thing from..

I’ve buried myself in the Baltic, burned into my skin this rough salt water. My shipyards left barren, the lighthouse now a beacon for shadows and shame. No bravery lives here. My dreams were left behind, so nothing but my terror remains, feeding off the eerie winds that sound during all seasons. These waves carry nothing to my shore’s; they only leech light during those rare sunny days, retreating into a blue so deep it’s like watching the Moon eclipse the sun. That blue is a darkness to numb my senses and dull this faint heart. I weep in the face of that brine, but I haven’t moved. I’ve made my home here, in this sea, far away from anything I could mistake as a reason to forgive.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, Uncategorized

On good days I tell myself it’s a way to wash it all away and get a clean slate, and on bad days I try not to speak at all, to avoid drowning in my rush for some peace.

I’m beginning to see how it is

That the sea, so full to its brim,

So overflowing with creatures,

The very blossom of life, can feel

Blank, like the pallet of stars

Our God saw fit to place

Where we can never hope to reach.

 

Inside we hold a universe untold,

The light, hidden as unlit torches,

The bearers our hearts, our brothers

And sisters the sparks to catch

Our very souls on fire.

 

How does an Ocean wash itself clean?

The water flows with the Moon,

That mirror blush from a luminous star,

And clashes against hard creation.

Together, thus does earth turn to lemon sand

And the ocean spray become cerulean tears.

Now, how does the soul burn away sin?

Set out a heart, so that it may too

Someday become as forgiving

As the delicate cinders that become

The ashes, taken by a wind

To become the soot for another;

In that we see how our brothers

And sisters are the very soil

In which our own timbers take root.

 

Still, the Sea is not always against the shore,

As the heart is not always open

To the gentle embers of others.

In that sense, one can see how

Being in an endless ocean can seem

Blank.

The depths await for cleansing,

A steady touch from mother Gaia

To let them know it’s okay to cry.

My soul stands and waits

On an edge, the last glass step

Towards the fiery stars that remain

Just beyond my reach.