Saturday, February 1, 2014

Old News

Your face
I seek between loose leaf notebook pages
scribbled and drawn on in my earlier years
when I remembered you better.
In the haze of growing up, all
things become further away,
the spirit loses sight of itself
where your face is printed like fading picture.
Newspaper, crumpled and yellowed
contains something... a picture
of boys running in the forest
with glinted and thunderstorming eyes
and a yearning for what things
should be like,
love gushing as twigs snap,
sapping out.
That was what it was like to remember;
To look at the world and say this is not enough, and
this is amazing, because it reminds us of something.
You.
You are the dream before life,
the one every child wakes up
to tell the world about -- the one
each of us expected to see when we first came here,
the one whom we have been grasping for
with our tiny hands.

3 comments:

  1. I bookmarked this blog a long time ago and I don't remember where I heard about it. I just want to let you know your writing has been huge for me. The past few months have been filled with brokenness and doubt and your writing gives me hope. If for nothing else but the knowledge that I have solidarity with someone. You put into words what my mind tries to say. How can I possibly love my God, my Father and Lord, while knowing he doesn't exist? Thinking. Doubting. Christ is real. Faith is a placebo. I don't know. That's okay. Nothing's okay. Life is beautiful and it sucks.

    Thank you.

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  2. Tyler,
    I am really sorry that you are going through all this with me. I am glad that we can go through it together though, albiet from afar.
    Your comment made me cry this morning. I had no idea other people read this blog. I am glad that my experiences of enduring suffering and doubt have given you a voice of hope as you endure yours.

    Do you ever write? If so, I'd love to read more about what you are going through.

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  3. I laughed out loud when I saw that you responded on here. What a privilege. I'd love to talk! My writing is hardly poetry, but I like to think I have a handle on the written word. Email correspondence might be more convenient.

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