A broken home
A fixed stare
Rusty nails hold dreams
Poison the well
We're all drinking again
Life is pulling at the seams
Yesterday I promised to hold these words close
But today my thoughts are on fire
And I'm running free
Clear the air and breathe
Dig a little deeper to find the life you buried alive just beneath your feet
Oh, if I could sing
My words would die to speak
To find a place in your thoughts
To hang gently like leaves covering a tree
on a wooden stool,
in the light of a burning candle,
swaying unpredictably.
tossed by waves,
uncertain of his bearings,
floating...flooding.
blood in his eyes and fire in his bones...
baptized in a raging storm.
...another wave breaks.
the salt of the sea burns clean
memories of days lost...floating.
a man, old and hollowed by the sea
thinking this is what he was made to be...flooding.
...floating free...
guided by waves, pushed by the wind.
dreaming of the moment when he last kissed the shore,
but you can be sure he's awake on the ship;
awake and alive in the tension between two worlds.
fall into wind,
sink into the sea.
hold the picture of what used to be.
reach at the stars who were once so faithful.
tomorrow rescues.
love binds.
grace heals.
God finds.
always.
Push off into uncertainty
Pull in the ropes, draw the anchor and sink
Let go of the shore...And be sure
you are not coming home
Floating away far from here
To find that which is alive and dear
Under the moon and stars
Without ground to kiss and reminese
Some days you have to lose to find what was there all along
The compass is spinning
Each wave whispers your name
Guiding me around in circles for days
And in each moment what's beneath calls deeply
Dreaming buried dreams
the dirt under my fingernails brings me close to us.
Pushing forward through breaking waves
To the distance where waves carry and not cut
I've been bleeding too long
Calmer seas welcome me
deeper into the woods
a heart will be lost
a life defying to be found
a prophet on a street corner
speaking and stealing words hauntingly familiar
bitter and biting
time, pregnant with doubt
bearing the weight no one would rather talk about
dreaming on fire, the kind that refines and cleans
holding on to time as it drops one grain at a time
one minute at a time
a future is forged with the tiniest of lines
unseen by blurring, bleeding eyes