Be honest with me
But don’t give me the pill
I want sweets
I want words like pillows
Not a surgical knife
That cuts through my pride
I really want you to be honest with me
Just do it with words of affirmation
Not decimation
Well that’s how I would hear your constructive critique
Yes
Be honest with me (but)
Category: Poem
inwardly
You will find depths,
in your spoken words,
if they also reflect,
your purest form of breath.
My cracked iPad screen
Gee, it’s hard not to feel frustration fuming. Even when I consider myself a person who takes good care of things especially the ones bought with the produce of my sweat. I think that term seems irrelevant in our modern day and age but you get my drift.
(Back then to the thing I was talking about) It broke.
Just a line but an unmistakable one, that I try to brush off with laughter, with tilting, with consolation, and to some points thinking it was just one of those nightmares I would eventually wake up from.
Too bad.
It’s still there.
And yes, it’s not the end of the world, and yes I’ll eventually choke up enough money to replace the cracked screen. Mishaps like these, one could almost definitely find a solution.
You only lose money or probably some viable documents. Or pictures and apps (but if you’ve synced them in the cloud then they’d be still there). See. Nothing to it. Though I’m still in technological mourning.
But it’s different with the breath of life. When you meddle with life on a knife’s edge, I’m sorry but there’s no solution in trying to feel the physical warmth of love again.
This Story
This story will not be merely just reminiscing,
not just photographs and picture frames,
not yesterday,
but present,
and of tomorrow,
of that,
there is no need of writing.
to be real
This piece (I want to call it some sort of poem but it does not fit the category) is somewhat inspired by “The Words.”
his anger was somewhere else
though it seemed to project itself in his lashings at objects
whatever it was that was within his reach
but what he wanted to reach was not in the present interior
it was somewhere
the past
in which he could not tweak
he could not change
he could not touch
nor feel with his hands
and all he wanted
all he longed for
was not to run
but for him to be real
“i’m sorry.”
Relational
If I only see the point of being relational in the juncture
of being influential
of being the change
of working out the negatives into positives
then I’ve lost the meaning of what it means
to be relational.
Because then,
relational becomes just another program
something we allow our mouths to say
and think it believes in
but really
really far from that
just words
and syllables
that evades what relational really means
which is just to be
and be
and be
and be
there for the sake
and very life of another.
If there is any truth
to just be there for another
it is then
to rediscover
what it means to be
relational.
Slow Fade
Hope
Can be a slow fade.
Of return
Of permanence
The appearance
And touch
Will soon
Slowly
And
Surely
Fade.
wondering perfection
It has been awhile but I penned this last Friday. With a few adjustments of course.
the beauty of perfection, if there ever was and is such a thing,
introspectively,
feels like death,
prolonged.
but looks and is shaped like, pure gold,
externally.
the inner will lead, the process of tilling,
of refining,
redefining,
deconstructing,
reconstructing,
the outer,
into wonder.
Fulfilled
Longing of a fulfilled life
And our search is through opening ourselves up to voices
The world, the devil, our own
And discover
Emptiness plummets
Futile, vain, unfulfilling
Another offer
In Christ
seeks to draw us a new vision
He is ruler
Choice
Dethroning of previous held views, Perspectives, Thoughts, Whatever
of a fulfilled life.
Repentance
Turn away
turn towards
Jesus saviour
Lord.
if you (would) want to know
how will you know the content of my longings
the condition of the interior
the true color of my feelings
if the only thing you hear
and want to
or choose to
are the exterior layer
of words
of sentences
and make meaning
of what is only
spoken on the surface.
to calm the heart of a storm
is not through means of only
mending the seen
but to listena
t how
what seems apparent
affects the subjectivity
of ones own personality.
A Chorus of Echoes 