Tuesday Night Conversations

We’ve all our own burdens, our own trauma, we carry on our backs. All broken hearts are equally broken, whether by a mallet or small stone; they lay shattered just the same. If you’re anything like me, you are well aware that compared to the horrors of this world, it was a tiny pebble that crushed your soul. Darling, your pain is valid. You are allowed to be hurt, you are allowed to heal.


Little bird
I see you fighting
Your wings are clipped
By devices not your own

Now where feathers once were
Burdens instead you carry
Pain has taught you to fear
Even hands reaching out
To relieve you of weights
Too mighty for your
Young shoulders

The walls are up
Would you let Him in?
He’s been there, too
He knows the scars
He knows the fear
Would you let Him in?

Fresh wings He’ll bring you
No more fighting to loose
Burdens only digging deeper
I’m aware these words are pale
This one’s just for me and you
Little bird
You’ve tasted bits of freedom
Of what life could be,
Darling, please
Let Him take you home
We’ll be here waiting
Arms open, heart singing

Little bird, it’s time
Let the walls down
Let the Lovelight shine.

A Seagull’s Farewell

I wish I could make a movie capturing the essence of this place.RevisedDSC_0100_016.jpgDSC_0100 Perhaps someday I will, recording Miami’s quiet song, playing out of pavement cracks available only to those earnestly listening for it. Tales of travelers now settled down, local artists the world will never know but we will always worship. Coffee so sweet it turns your soul to syrup, handed over by the barista whose name will forever be a mystery, but who always remembers yours. It’s the song of rainy summers, jeans torn to 16614761044_827496b481_oshreds so you can pretend it’s fall in the ostentatious heat; it’s breaking waves and poetry yelled from street corners. It’s flat roofs and sun-bleached walls; trends’ voices mingled with jazz of ancient days.

One of my favorite guilty pleasures is that of eavesdropping during solitary cafe sittings. Perhaps it’s part of this writer’s curse: the need to observe people not only from the outside, but get in their heads, to hear the thoughts hidden humans share in times of supposed anonymity. I am but a bystander then, glimpsing for a 16616899563_7d7fe2982a_obrief second the unfolding of their lives; lives I will never again encounter, stories I’ll never know the ending of.

I’ll be leaving soon to follow my Lord into unknown nations, and as the departure days draws nearer I’m realizing just how much I’m going to miss this town where rebels come to regroup, artists to be inspired, and lonely souls to find solace and society. My prayer is that when I return I’ll be better equipped to share the love of Christ with the citizens of this cultural melting pot. 17235461742_e9de79a8ff_oThis is not the happiest of cities, it’s true, but we are a passionate bunch, and I would rather have it said we were full of life and honesty than had pretty pastel smiles plastered to dead lips. I would rather be among the fighters, searching truth out from under every corner, helping show them the path to the Kingdom. For in reality, that is all any of us here are after; the Ultimate Satisfaction only Christ can bring. No amount of Colombian brew or Fleetwood Mac records will do it; no finishing of the perfect painting or finally cranking out the novel you’ve always said you would write but never seemed to be able to get around to will soothe the ache of living without the light of Eternity shining upon your face.

Becoming Anthemoessa

Boots on ground
Coming closer
Do you hear them stomping?

The boots are high-heeled
Crimson lipped
Smiling so sweet
While stripping you of liberty

Their voices are music
Sounding like freedom
But do you hear
The bloodcurdling
Tortured screams
Their lullabies are covering?

Boots on ground
Hypnotic perfumes
You won’t hear them coming
Closer, closer

Promising acceptance
If you’ll only
Sell your soul
For government’s gold

They’ll tell you all
You wish to hear
All the while, secretly reviving
Your deepest childhood fears.

They’ll operate in silence
Cover your mouth
Frame you, charge you
For their own brutal

There is yet time
Join the Resistance
Battle the lethargic lies
Or remain