What if boot camp was what it was all about

the pendulum swings and
college slides
down the bunk bed post,
debunked of passion,
penny loafers, worn, on ice rolling
credits shower mortarboards
the newly commissioned officers
grow beards in battle
and salute the retail mercenaries
and baristas in berets

Me, a renegade artist?

Me, a renegade artist?
Swinging into a life, letting go?
Only seeing crying in my mind’s eye,
justifying pain with self-denial.
Late nights, passion, mystery,
gone for you?
Tell me, who is me–no, should be?
Before I am who I am enduringly.

Wailing knives twirling

Wailing knives twirling, stabbing through my walls
That hinder your rippling power as your Spirit calls
Me to bottomless passion deep within,
Weighing intellect as 11 o’clock bells yell “Class begin!”
“What do you want from me?” I scream in fear.
“My book bag lying on your altar–me in tears?”
Evenly melted and so entangled I could never be!
For I departmentalize the Living One, inside of me,
Catching contradictions flying around my head,
So consumed, doubt I’ll catch me, instead?

Holy Taint

Burnt from both fingertips to the heart,
Ruined by their Redeemer and
Scared by a Savior,
Yearning for the nail print
Ask and ye shall. . . .
Dangerous with passion,
Empowered with promise,
Striving to follow the forsaken fisher of men.

Can I love on my own?

I’m pretty sure with my humanistic means I can undo my hate,
Unwrap my angry passion slow enough not to spring,
But I’m wondering if I can love on my own.
Why should I love, if I am not your son?
Do you think that I owe you anything stranger?
Well, I don’t.
I owe a debt to my Savior and live in my death
For a cause that is greater than my passiveness.

Love that is a reflex

As a young boy, curled against my mother’s chest,
talking, walking with loved ones,
unforgettable shared experiences.
“Never be ruled by memories!” I scream
but crave reliving moments, now, miles and years apart.
Lonely, because at that moment I wasn’t alone,
where people matter in person,
passion, courtesy, spontaneity;
Where love is a reflex.

Like a Parent

I still love you even though I can’t see you,
Everyday in mind you are there,
And I’m afraid for you. Scared.
I am afraid you will be
Body slammed by others,
Held back from what you want to be
And what you feel led to do.

Your passion melts my trust
I want to trust you, let you fly free.
I want to hear of your escapades
and dilemmas like the retreating of waves
on the shore, like an empty nest parent.
I feel like a parent.