Them

the one,
I want to touch him
As if he's made of Braille
Leaving messages of my own
Scattered across his skin
And reading the notes
He touches to me.
I want to flutter my fingertips
Over him until I've absorbed
What I can of his wisdom
And love unending.

the other,
I want to hold his attention,
Possess his time
And let minutes slip into hours
And days slide into years.
I want to know him,
Let him know me,
And find all the ways
To bring him joy.
I want the moments
To run away like clouds
With his attentions.

Funny.
When I think on them,
They seem so different,
Yet I do believe they are the same man...

Heal me,
As my body falls apart.
Heal me,
As my heart betrays my sanity.

How can I survive,
As I lose my leg
And my mobility
To the pain.

I know I can live,
Even as my emotions
Are pulled and twisted
Between all these different places.

I still need to be healed.
I will wait
And try to take care.
Heal me.

John 6:35

Isn't it funny
How those I desire
Have no time for me
And I contemplate this
The night it is posted
That "Whoever comes to me
Will never go hungry,
And whoever believes in me
Will never be thirsty."

I am leaving
To return
Yet in coming back
I only do so
To leave again.
Yet through all this
I stay.
Tell me why
This makes sense
In this crap-saccharine world.

Fighting Demons

The girl stood in her tattered and bloodied dress
Holding up with effort the nicked and scratched sword
To fend off the circling shadows.
They moved about in swirling clouds,
Each bleeding into the other.
Was her ankle snapped?
Were her knees bruised?
Were rivulets of blood running down her?
Yes, yet she stood anyway.
Yes, she was growing weaker
But she put in the effort anyway.
She was failing.

Until a warrior came to help.
He wrapped himself around her,
Straightened her grip,
Stiffened her posture,
And showed her that her "breaking" sword
Was just as shining as when first forged.
He reminded her how she could cut the shadows apart
With the smallest of strikes with the sword.

When he stepped away to let her stand alone again,
She could tell he had no shining silver armor.
This was good.
Whatever battles he'd been in,
He had survived them.
So as the woman in sturdy armor beat back her shadows,
He slipped away to fight his own,
Leaving the tiniest of threads between them
That either could summon help.

In the Quiet Moments

In the quiet moments,
I remember the feel of you,
How it felt to be wrapped
And touched by another.
I remember your sweetness
And the warmth of arms.
The terrifying thing,
Is that I miss all that
Without missing you.

Missing you
Is a cry reserved for the graveyard
Of my heart
Where lies every dear name
I've ever lost
Or forgotten.

His Words to Her

What was going to bed
In the face of the sweet oblivion
That was you?
What was sleep,
When confronted with the comforting nothingness
Your single-flame life provides?
You burn so bright,
How could I close my eyes
To the light of your soul?