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.”

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,
feels like death,

but looks and is shaped like, pure gold,

the inner will lead, the process of tilling,
of refining,
the outer,
into wonder.


Turn out the lights,
Eradicate the noise,
And rest.

The silence,
Cognitive reflexes,
Eradicate the clutter,
And rest.

The melodic streams,
Words to meaning,
To feel,
Wait, and so shall the soul,
Await the Spirit to heal.


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


Dethroning of previous held views, Perspectives, Thoughts, Whatever

of a fulfilled life.


Turn away

turn towards

Jesus saviour



if you (would) want to know

Color y profundidad
Color y profundidad (Photo credit: Mad-King)

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.


simple pleasures

simple pleasures in life
the permeating aroma
of beautiful
of printed words
on that flat white surface
of paper
the simple pleasures of
following the strands
of how someone had skillfully
connected words and sentences together
to conjure meaning
that warms the bed of ones heart
or sears the mind of scholars
or tickle souls in laughter
or cause tears to flow
the simple pleasures in life
with that i am happy

this isolation

Written June 2011. Where you see “[…]” are the parts I added. This poem reminds me that just a while ago everything was going wrong. And now I see the beauty of the silent love.

It takes getting used to
This isolation
This notion of being alone
This feeling that yearns

embracing the [breeze]
The empty calls that speaks affection
They are nowhere near
Just a silent reverberating fear, [this isolation]

Beside is just [me concealing the light]
No returning conversation
Just me speaking [the shadow]
When the bloom is nothing but desolation

[What was] cherished is now crashing
[Crimson] Hearts left for the burning [no more beating]
Nothing seems like it used to
Just another bitter hopeful dream [welcoming nothing]