Let the Heart Not Love

I try to think of fancy ways to speak of ways my heart feels.
It’s all in vain because this pain speaks words I can’t express.
I told myself my heart would not love. There is no way I can.
Protecting my heart is number one, so I don’t bother with love.
I escape my hurt by masking it deep within myself.
This is not healthy I know, but what is one to do,
When he can not run away from the feelings he holds inside.
It’s true that love is a great thing, and at certain times I confess,
My heart does love in spite of the hold I try to keep on it.
In spite of the world may say, true love is hard to find.
Let the heart not love is what I say.
In doing this, you will keep yourself from harm.
Good luck in doing this though, the heart seems to have a mind of its own.

Still

God’s love runs purer than the clearest water you can find.

Drink deep in the refreshment of his cool waters of grace and peace.

Quiet your mind in the presence of his spirit.

Embrace the silence as his voice grows quiet.

A Single Storm

A single storm rages in the distance. There is something standing in the middle of this storm. All around is clear, but in the middle of the storm stands a young man. He is dripping wet as the wind and rain sweep around him. Even amidst the raging noise and un-clarity, the tears from his eyes are clearly visible. The salt in his tears drips down into the corner of his mouth as he quietly sobs in pain. The storm continues to rage, but another player steps into the scene. No words are spoken as the stranger reaches to put his arms around the man. The crying man receives the embrace and continues to cry now on the opposite’s shoulder. The storm rages, but it’s okay he is being held.

Bathroom Times

You know what I like? Those moments that you know exactly what is going to happen. Those time area amazing. For instance, you walk into a bothroom, and you know exactly what’s going to happen. Say that you have an exam in the next class you are headed to, or you are going to a meeting that could have bad implications, if you go to the bathroom before hand, you have at least 2-3 minutes of time where you know exactly what’s going on. You are going to relieve yourself in your various ways. Whether you are a sitter or stander, folder or buncher, it doesn’t matter. The goal is the same, and for that time frame, you are protected in your cocoon of relief for 2-3 minutes. That’s some good times.

A House Abandoned

The house stand vacant and abandoned in the middle of the field.
The snow covered ground is indicative of the season.
The frost on the windows creeps confidently toward the center of the glass.
A door slides open with the wind encouraging it along.
The stairs to the upper level protest the icy wind as it sweeps upward.
The door to the bedroom blows open as an invitation to look inside.
Swirling around the room are papers from a children's coloring book,
The wind constantly blowing them helplessly.
The window slams shut, and the papers float to the ground.
The wind sucks backwards until the front door slams shut.
Alone. The house has locked itself away.
Flash!
Warm laughter fills the room as the fire crackles with delight.
Children run around the kitchen and up the stairs squealing.
A mother beckons her husband to sit beside her on the couch.
The guests are full, and the hostesses is proud.
A job well done.
Dessert is served as stories from the past with laughter as a garnish.
The guests grow tired as the host and hostesses began saying goodbyes.
With coats and scarfs and gloves adorned, they began their long trek home.
The husband looks at his wife and smiles. She returns the gesture.
They lock their hands as they walk up the stairs to tuck themselves away.
Flash!
The house shivers as it lets out a cry.
No more warmth to keep it alive.
The days are long, and the nights are longer.
The house were we once grew is slowly dying.
It will soon match the two gravestones off to the side.
The wind reminds the house that death is at hand.
The frost grows its final inch to cover the windows completely.
The house no longer makes a noise but quietly settles in peace.
Alone.

A Single Feather

A single feather floats toward the November ground.
It's warmer than usual, and the birds are somewhat confused.
They have finally decided to call it quits,
They are bound for warmer air even still.
I stand and watch the feather floating down.
Naturally, I look up to see its source.
There is nothing there.
I hold out my hand as the feather comes close.
It lands in the center of my palm.
It's so beautiful. Black and white with red flecks.
A wisp of wind blows by and knocks the feather out of my hand.
Out into the street it flies dodging cars with panicked motions.
It's practically unseen. It's going to get crushed!
They must look out! Too late.
The feather is gone. The air is crisp.
I stand with my arms around me.
"At least I got to hold it for a second" I thought.
Maybe I'll see this feather again.
Maybe another feather will drift my way.