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.