Crying Out for You

"Those who desire peace,
Must prepare for war"

The thunder of guns tear me apart,
And my eyes watch as the innocent fall.
Their limp bodies lay around my feet.
Tears roll down my face,
And anger courses through my veins.
Who could do this,
What beast could be so cruel.
There's blood on your hands,
And on mine.

Walking down the street,
I hear their screams.
The screams of the oppressed,
Of the overwhelmed,
And the weary.

Lifting my words,
I take aim.
Taking a deep breath now,
I squeeze the trigger.

This is me crying out for the son forgotten on the field.
A fallen soldeir,
A lost love.
His blood spilled for his countryman,
His blood soaked up by the ground,
And his name too,
Soaked up and forgotten in the mud.
This is me crying out for the forgotten son.

This is me crying out for the daughter held in captivity,
Her body addicted to drugs she never wanted to take,
And used by any man willing to pay a few dollars.
Her voice silinced with a gag,
She screams in her mind to be free.
This is me crying out for the daughter.

This is me crying out for the child,
The one with the bruises that you casually pass in grocery store.
The child who hides behind a couch every night,
Scared for his parents to come home.
5 years old,
But carrying the pain of a lifetime.
His voice too small to be heard,
He cowers in a life of fear.
This is me crying out for the child.

This is me tearing open my chest to expose the beating heart.
Pulling it from my body,
I offer it to you.
Take my heart and live again,
Love again,
And hope again.

I carry on each day,
Not for myself,
But for you.
I fight for you,
I hope for you,
And one day,
I will die for you.

This is me crying out for you.
The forgotten,
The captive,
And the abused.

Forgotten by those around you,
Captive to your own fears,
And abused by the world.
This is me crying out for you. . .
Let me be your hero.
Let me be your guardian,
Let me be your hope,
And let me save you.

Save me

Fear

I feel this tightness in my chest,
Consuming my thoughts its hard to forget the rest.
Looking at the screen,
I see the numbers and want to scream.

So stuck in the day to day turmoil.

Dreams and fantasies now forgotten somewhere in the middle.

With so much stress its hard to carry on,

But they say the night is darkest just before the dawn.

Cooped up inside my brain,

Hold them inside for fear of shame.

Fight all I might,

But the world might win tonight.

Breaking down my defenses,
Frustration and shame overload my senses.
I want to be free,
But how long will it take for that to happen to me.

I want to be strong,
But I've walked this path for so long.
Is that a light at the end of the road so high?
Or just the glistening of sweat in my eye.

Try and try as I might,
I don't know if I have the strength to pull through the night.
Lord, let the dawn come soon,
My body and soul are tired, and it's only noon.

Second Chances. . .

Sometimes we spend all of our time waiting for that second chance.

Second chance at love,

Second chance to do something right,

Second chance to make a difference. . . .

This makes it hard to slow down, relax,

And accept peace.

Sometimes I think we start moving so fast,

Trying to reach an objective,

And we miss the blessings along the way.

It's like this quote says:

"Yesterday is History,

Tomorrow a Mystery,

And Today a Gift. . .

That's why it's called The Present."

~Unknown

So often we can forget that even with all the stresses,

The struggles and the turmoil around us,

Today is a gift.

With peace comes understanding,

With understanding comes clarity,

With clarity comes direction,

With direction comes purpose. . .

And with purpose comes peace.

It comes full circle in the end.

Everything around us is geared towards "The Next Thing."

The next toy,

The next car,

The next new gadget,

The next. . .The next. . . .

What about NOW?

It's no wonder people are so frustrated,

When the Now is never noticed,

Never good enough.

Oh, I understand determination. . .believe me. . .

But what about accepting where we are now?

Being proud of today. . .

I mean, you made it didn't you?

Before you can truly know where you are going,

You must understand where you have been,

And know where you are right now.

So accept the challenge of Now. . .

Accept understanding. . .

Accept clarity. . .

Accept direction. . .

Accept purpose. . .

And accept Peace.

Dancing in the Fire

Has the world been blinded by all the lies?

Do we not realise, we're dancing in the fire?

It's not the storm before the calm,

This is the deep and dying breath of a last chance.

Don't you think we all should know by now?

Know that, we've pulled too many false alarms,

Too many cries for attention,

And no body's coming to save us now.

Is it pain and tears,

Broken hearts and the end of something good?

Or is it opportunity and anticipation we should feel. . .

A chance for forward motion,

The beginning of something great.

Will we choose cowardice, or courage. . .

Denial or determination?

Will we stand as one,

Or fall one by one as individuals?

The excitement of the future can never truly over come the agony of the past,

But enjoyment of the present. . . .

Living for this moment right here. . . .

Realising the only thing guranteed is the moment now. . .

Maybe with this attitude, we could find joy again.

It Starts with One

It's funny how often i feel that in order to truly express myself,

I need to write my thoughts down.

When my thoughts seemed jumbled and too blurry to make out the details,

Writing brings clarity. . .brings out brilliant colors in the grey areas of the picture.

So, here I am again. . .after a long absence,

Writing again. . .searching for answers, and clarity.

But where is the clarity in this mess of a world?

There are so many things I struggle with. . .

Things I don't understand.

I don't understand why families choose to be torn apart by anger and resentment. . .

Lives woven together by love,

Then ripped apart by selfish desires and refusal to practice some humility.

Why do children starve to death in our most populated cities?

Surrounded by millions of pounds of food. . . 

Is our attention drawn away from them on purpose. . .or is it just accidental?

Will we take responsibility for our mistakes?

We so easily brush off the tugging hand of a begging child,

Claiming "If I had extra money I would help."

As we walk in to our favorite restaurant for an overpriced meal.

Sexual immorality is popular. . .drugs are the norm.

Lying and cheating are taught to children as they watch these habits

So carefully illustrated by their peers. . .and their government.

Christianity is looked upon as a crutch. . .a weakness,

But with the church over run with hypocrisy,

Is it not deserving of such criticism?

This world is a mess. . .

Things have to change. . . .

Who is going to change it?

It starts with You. . .and me. . .it starts with One.

Innocence

Often I sit . . . perplexed by the thoughts spinning through the wheels of my mind. 

Whispering quietly in my ear, each notion longs for attention. 

But like a ghost crossing the room, clarity appears and then vanishes into the darkness, 

Leaving me alone once again. 

I sit and stare into the darkness, and it is my turn to whisper . . . my turn to express . . . my turn to be heard. 

I talk to myself . . . to God . . . to no one . . . and to everyone. 

I speak each word with the enthusiasm used when speaking to an audience . . . 

Staring into the faces in the darkness, I know I am being heard. 

I sit and contemplate each word . . . 

Critiquing each syllable and challenging each statement . . . 

I am my most daunting audience . . . 

then I remember innocence, and tears run down my face.

I am confused about this world. 

It screams at me to base my decisions and my beliefs on the tangible facts 

Laid so carefully on this table in front of me . . . 

This table so many refer to as life. 

The world tugs at our sleeves, begging us to live for the moment . . . 

For ourselves. 

My mind works against me . . . 

Trying to pull drapes over my eyes to shield me from the pain surrounding me. 

But how can I forget innocence? 

I remember innocence, and tears run down my face.

The face of a small child . . . 

So carefully etched upon my mind. 

I held his hand and looked into his young eyes. 

Tears formed as he felt the pain of a needle being inserted into his vein. 

His eyes looked deep into mine . . . searching for strength . . . 

So trusting . . . his small hand gripped my fingers. 

In my mind, I knew he would be fine . . . 

He would fall asleep . . . we would perform the task before us . . . 

And he would wake to be with his mother again soon.

I looked at him with a smile and whispered,

"Don't worry, everything will be fine."

Little did I know, my words were deemed to be the last he would hear on this world.

He drifted off to sleep,

His body relaxed,

But then the Unexpected,

His heart suddenly stood still . . . 

Time, as if out of respect, did the same . . . 

I too . . . I do not know exactly why . . . stood still. 

Despite attempts to save him,

His life slipped away.

I watched as his figure was engulfed in a cloud of white sheets . . . 

The world, too ashamed to look upon death. 

I remember innocence, and tears run down my face.

The face of a young mother . . . so carefully etched upon my mind. 

Her crumpled weeping form . . . her son’s body, empty of life. 

Who am I to be the one to bear the news of her son’s death? 

Who is the world to tear the life from innocence? 

Not one life lost, but two . . . the son’s and the mother’s . . . 

For her son was her life. 

The discomforting site of a lifeless body . . . 

The tormenting site of the ones who lived on . . . 

Their faces searching for strength. 

I am reminded of innocence, and tears run down my face.

The face of a strong father . . . so carefully etched upon my mind. 

His ruff hands, strong from the years of hard work . . . 

And yet so gentle when cradling her face to his chest. 

His body strong and supporting . . . his eyes pleading for help. 

His son’s body . . . once so vibrant and colorful . . . 

Now so lifeless and cold. 

The child he so carefully raised . . . 

He so fervently provided for . . . 

He so deeply loved . . . 

Ripped away from him in one fleeting moment. 

Who am I to feel loss? 

I have lost nothing so precious. 

I look upon myself with disdain . . . 

And then I remember innocence, and tears run down my face.

I remember the face of a small child . . . the face of a young mother . . . the face of a strong father . . . and I remember innocence . . . and tears run down my face.