When stories end

Like a small piece of land in the middle of an ocean
my heart’s sinking in the sea.
My arms flailing bout,
there’s not a shadow of doubt
I’m about to sink beneath.

I’m screaming in sorrow, I’m screaming in pain.
There’s no one around to hear.
All the pretty friendly fishes
turning into shark-like witches,
Feeding off my primal fear.

It’s the fear that consumes me, the fear that destroys
A fear chilling to the bone.
Colder than the icy waters
in which my heart slowly flutters –
It’s the fear of being alone.

I can hear your fake cackling echoing in your hollow soul.
Our friendship mortified.
My heart can’t grow gills
In anger it wills
that our friendship dies.

I guess it’s the same sadness, the very same fear,
that forces you to be one of them.
Selfish and conniving.
Lying and depraving.
I think its time for the end to begin.

It seems I always break silences with poems

I've been writing in my own journal lately, filling it with my thoughts. I don't know if it's more selfish not to share my thoughts or to share them without being absolutely sure they're accurate. I don't know. Anyway, I wrote a poem tonight inspired by my own thoughts coupled with Donald Miller's newest book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. In it he talks about the idea that we remember those things that are exciting or different or the days we went the extra mile to make special. I don't remember a lot of my past. I wonder if it's because I've lived a really boring life. Comfortable, yes. But boring. I've dreamed of living an exciting life. I have all these visions of what I would have done if I was one of those people who live life in real boldness. Anyway, that's what the poem's about, and I thought I could share this.

I want to live it out loud,
Drink in deep.
Remember the times we waited
For the world to fall asleep
Then we ran, farther than allowed
Knee deep in darkness,
Drowning in life
Hoping we weren't dreaming
Under this glittering sky.

Oh, I can’t remember.
I can’t remember.
Maybe it slipped away from my grip
But I know that if I wander too far I will trip
Into that memory, as false at as it is,
Fabricated in a desperate half-attempt to live.
Boring, it’s so boring.
I’ve forgotten it all,
No real memories to hold on too
So into false ones I fall.

Standing up, standing out.
Blacktop gleaming, wetness stenching.
Rain dripping, dropping, drenching.
Tongue out, unashamed.
Washed by the holy springtime rain.
Remember when we danced in the streets?
No shoes, no worries, no thought of the memories we’d create.
Oh, how we laughed and cried as we sang
Hands outstretched, scolding the rain
As it fell and splashed in our mouth.
Such beauty we became as we danced in nature’s well.
Rebirthed, restirred, renamed.

Oh, I can’t remember.
I can’t remember.
Maybe it slipped away from my grip
But I know that if I wander too far I will trip
Into that memory, as false at as it is,
Fabricated in a desperate half-attempt to live.
Boring, it’s so boring.
I’ve forgotten it all,
No real memories to hold on too
So into false ones I fall.

So, Write me a story
Of meaning and truth.
Something more than this life stuck on mute.
Dear scribe, write me a song
Then let the sirens sing
And let me drink in that music
Let it sink in and sting
Till I’m drunk on the words,
And I crash this old boat.
Let my false memories burn in the back of my throat.
Cling to these rocks and pray for new life,
Speak to me hope in those beautiful words.
Then we’ll break from our cage, love,
And take flight like the birds.
We’ll break from this cage, love,
And take flight like the birds.

The Story of the Cliff

They’re tearing at me
Ghasty fingers crawl over my skin
Pulling.
“Come!” they cry
“We can fill that empty hole.”
Indeed there it is, where my heart should be there was a chasm
It was deep and the edges were sharp
Like it had been carelessly carved out
I put my hand to my chest
And felt the emptiness,
The dark substance-lacking air that filled that space
And still the fingers pulled
Pricking and tugging
Pulling my hair, pinching my skin
And I wept.
In front of me stretched the edge of a cliff.
It looked terrifying. Black rock, red backdrop.
The bottom was clouded in darkness.
And it was away from the edge these fingers pulled me.
“Come!” they cry
“This is dangerous. We want to protect you.
Come where it is comfortable and your heart will be filled.”
Oh, the struggle within. The choice seemed so easy. But a haunting song seemed to call me forward to the edge. While the fingers pulled me back.
Forces clashing armor against armor inside of me,
No white horses verses black horses.
All the knights were dressed the same,
Wolves in sheep’s clothing
But I couldn’t tell who was who
And it raged
And my insides ached
I grew weary from the conflict,
Weary of the noises.
I wanted to silence it all,
The haunting song and the voices that beckoned me backward.
I began to shut myself down, like a flashlight out of battery.
I numbed myself to all.
The fight doesn’t seem worth it, I thought.
So I sat down.
The fingers still pricked, but I didn’t feel them.
The cliff still called but I didn’t listen.
I just sat.
And sat.
And sat.
And sat.
Until one day I rose my hand to my chest and felt the hole that had been carved
And I ran my fingers around the edge,
The sharp, jagged edges
And it pricked me
I drew back my finger and a drop of blood rose to the skin.
And I had a feeling,
A thought.
A remembrance of what is was like to live engaged in the world.
I remembered the pain and the beauty and hurt and the joy
And all at once my ears were opened again,
And the noises were deafening.
My eyes opened and the ground was shaking
The world had not stopped as I had supposed.
It raged on.
It was chaotic, overpowering.
The fingers tugged,
“Come,” they cried
“Where there is no pain. We can take you there.”
The sirens song rose up from the cliff’s edge.
And I shook at the experience of it all.
My body trembled.
I tried to throw off the hands that clutched me.
And I ran to the edge,
Staring down into what seemed like nothingness.
It was uncertainty.
Jumping surly meant death.
I leaned over,
The voices growing frantic behind me,
Beckoning me to retreat
“Come back!” they cried
“Come back!”
“Why should I do this?!” I yelled into the cavern.
“Why should I choose this? What will you do about this hole in my chest?!”
I sobbed, emotions of desperation, fury, and hope pulsed through my veins.
“What do you want from me?!” I cried.
The haunting melody drifted up from the cavern.
I realized for the first time that there were words interlaced in the song,
Why hadn’t I heard them before?
They sang this:
“Die to self, Oh beloved
And learn to live again
Nothing can fill that hole
Or completely heal the pain within.
But We too have holes,
In our hands and our side
We suffered for you
Come, oh Bride
Prepare yourself
For Our kingdom is near
It is not man,
But it is us you should fear.
We won’t take all your pain away
We won’t make you whole
Not in this life anyway,
Can We complete your soul.
But We came to you to feel your pain,
To make each tear our own
If you take a chance with us,
You will never be alone.
We forgive your fear and yours sin are washed
If you decide to come,
It is hard,
But it’s truth
So, jump, beloved one.”
No promise of ease
Or of my desires being fulfilled came from the song that echoed through the rocks.
The ghastly fingers gripped harder,
Their voices stronger.
“Come!” they cried,
“We have a place with no pain.
We have a place with no sorrow!
Come!”
“Liars!” I screamed
And I jumped.