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| Monday, November 17 | | · | Feather and Ink (7) |
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| Monday, October 13 | | · | How I killed my Father (43) |
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| Saturday, August 02 | | · | Confessions to myself (144) |
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| Wednesday, July 23 | | · | tuesdays (113) |
| Monday, July 21 | | · | Their Mother Saw God. (125) |
| Wednesday, July 16 | | · | A Grove of Beachfoot Wanderers, Idolizing. (126) |
| Thursday, July 10 | | · | Never Nowhere (153) |
| Tuesday, July 08 | | · | Postmortem Hypostasis (149) |
| Monday, July 07 | | · | Manipulator (145) |
| Saturday, June 28 | | · | Is It Over? (186) |
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| Friday, June 27 | | · | The Right One (201) |
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| Sunday, June 15 | | · | be alright (208) |
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| · | Take This To Heart (180) |
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| Thursday, June 12 | | · | Forty Years (189) |
More Previous Poetry
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Posted by
on Saturday, July 29 @ 12:16:09 UTC
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: Sand
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on Saturday, July 29 @ 12:16:09 UTC
conect11 writes:: " Don’t presume to know how I love
based on your limited experiences with me.
We are wired similarly,
but have different processors.
It soaks my core.
“Respect” sounds like such an insult
coming from your lips.
I’d rather not hear of it
because I know your views have been tainted.
I can go underground
for a very long time.
I can go underground
as you’ve seen before.
Ryan and Kary
have affected me deeply.
What’s possibly left
in the face of such tragic circumstances?
The thoughts and emotions
are what bear the worst bruising.
It’s the thoughts and emotions
that never recover.
I see Jim and Mary Overman
not as Mr. and Mrs. Overman anymore,
but as adults only slightly older than I am,
with their own frailties, troubles,
and the sad look of loss carried in their eyes.
They are troubled,
both of them.
I visited their son
behind an imposing white steel door
with a small opaque window.
Forty – eight hours behind it
and the street clothes go on,
but what about
the light inside his head?
I feel it in my core,
I feel their pain soaking me.
These people need Christ
to live through them
and work through them
and find them where they are.
I have compassion and love
for all of my friends.
I cannot stand to see them suffer.
My emotions and convictions
run straight into my heart.
Their hurts go straight to my spirit.
I feel it in every part of me,
in the deep and shallow parts of me.
I hold no conditions on love,
or on the treatment I receive.
I don’t feel cheated anymore
because I’ve lost sand through my fingers.
It is only sand
and God has made it in abundance.
I will not be guilted by the guilty
for the wrongs I’ve apologized for.
That is between my maker and myself.
I will cry over the broken hearts
and broken homes,
but will do so on my day
and in my own time.
"
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