Treasures in Jars of Clay

towards whom few may see

towards that which may not be

towards a life of sadness and glee

I strive forward ever so faithfully

God's workmanship crafted

so delicately

a body upon which

the scars of sin doth takes its toll

but through life I trek

through times of toil

that at the end of the day

when I meet my Maker

to me shall go all the spoils

so i dare not wish

upon or for worldly things

those things that never last

for from dust they were made

and to dust they shall return

this, the true cycle of earthly things

but my soul, O, my soul

that shall last forever

seated with holy high

so prepare I must

for that great day

when my body doth turns to dust

my soul will sing a jamboree

on that day,

when Christ does come for me

then, my dear, hear me laugh with glee.

but for now, I wait

i slowly wait...

and wait...

ever so patiently.

Encompassed by darkness

my spine

up

shivers run

the finish:

a released

si-

gh

music

f

l

o

w

i

n

g

ecsinimer reminisce

drifting to memories

A painted landscape

changing colors of rocks

covered with grime

aged through the ages

scratch marks of time

little boys contemplate great dreams

great men reminisce little memories

as such we all grow

to the greats and the smalls

into the toil

through white spires or stony arches

experience teaches

nothing but perspective

reigns supreme

O, a different land

towards which I no longer feel

I, an outsider

misplaced

dreaming of home

in a home that was my home

now lying in the past

Few words spoken

Little experiences

great changes

age an early indication of time

yet maturity and wisdom

calls to taunt me

from ascension to my rightful place

Parting ways from college gothic

onwards I travel

double-takes bar none

under arches I pass and spires traverse

a future undefined as defined

pick up my brush

one quick twirl, one quick flick

a line is drawn

completion of this painted

landscape...

Darkness settles

Boiling rage:

a combination of frustration and hate

the only release for a bleeding heart

Insanity:

driven by solemn solitude.

to whom do I speak to but

white walls

screaming death sounds

like a better fate

constantly consumed:

jailed in my own mind

no outlet to vent

I cannot sustain the day

grab my shattered, spilled Walker

I slowly

c r a w l

from the torrents of tears

of a niagra filled basin

mixed stench of urine, blood, and alcohol

I drip tainted water

once clear white turns blood red

drenched, I turn in

for the night

burdened, now.

only by pain and sadness

a loneliness only felt by one

I curse the days I wake...

watch my facade spring forth

but stare

deep, in my eyes

the life behind this stony mask

unveil

that which few do see

none will observe within

as my dark period begins

------------------------------------------------

Disclaimer:

I've gotten a lot of concerned responses to this poem. I am OKAY! It is just a poem! Don't read too much in to it. But, if you are worried even with this disclaimer, please come talk to me so I can clear things up.

Once again, I am fine!

One Path

This is the way things must progress.

Even through all the pain and duress,

I will come out as nothing less.

In the end, I will impress.

Listen well!

all this will no longer depress

I wipe my hands of this entire mess.

for now, to all this, I will aggress.

Actions and words,

later, one cannot redress.

Nevertheless,

this is my path to success.

-------------------------------------------

Sometimes the inspiration you need to get through the day is from people that are no longer with you. It makes you wonder why things turned out the way they did, and it reminds you that you need to keep on trekking through life. I am just glad to have been able to call them my friends. I'm thinking about ya'll.

Repost : Give us clean hands

Here's to the end of what was the beginning. Here's to a new chapter in my life written in hands washed clean. I flip back and I see sweat, tears, and blood infused into the weaves of wooden mesh. Every new beginning starts with clean hands, but how they become dirty with constant wear! Thus, we must wash our hands clean of this filth that clouds our mind's eye. Such skewed logic, such distorted images of life, such altered ideas of living must be cast out. Leave behind only that which remains pure, still, and pristine. When your hands are sterile, what is left behind? I only see lines: lines of fate intertwined. These nice, neat arches and ridges that define the ups and downs of our life lead not to death but to a greater understanding of ourselves and the world we live in. So, in essence, we cannot wash away all the filth, all the dirt, all the contamination, we can only remove that thin layer of putrid, molding tarp and see exactly who we are. And, we'll realize that the life underneath that sheet of grime lays that which is shaped by the experiences which give us the messy sewage that infects our mind and heart.

Single Awareness Day

Heavenly close

simple breathes sigh

to that so far below

in greenly pastures

dancingly glow

waving swaying

alas, no end good bye

upon which teary eyes rest

the sun does hellishly set

leaving marked cursive signature

that of life's greatest capture

tainted paint flies with penned rapture

who would have guessed

one lone soul

sits patiently high

waiting

no longer wishing

to be simply that

passerby

But sun head droops

light kept at bay

goes home

half hearted, no fruits

with only moonlight in starry night

does tauntingly say

Ha Ha big bright Sun

Here's to your single, lonely Valentine's Day

-----------------------------------------

Forgive me if it sucks. I wrote it on my plane ride back from UMich when I couldn't sleep.