Dolces Nientes

Dolce.

Yeah, I know.

I was born sweet.

The very blood in my veins,

tears in my eyes,

marrow in my bones-

dolce.

My heart opens up wide as the wilderness night sky

in churches with organs sounding,

filling the whole cavernous space,

on adventures beyond what’s trimmed and green,

but not here.

No dolce-no.

I don’t speak your language, sorry.

But really, you don’t speak mine.

Mine is ancient and wild and raw.

But sometimes, a lot of times, I can hear you.

I’m sweet-

Dolce.

Keep talking, bambino. Don’t ever stop.

Fill my heart with sweet nothings,

if only to keep the monsters at bay.

July 10, 2013

Evolution

I don’t think this started

like you think it did.

I don’t think you know that

I wanted you here

for a different reason.

I don’t think you know that

you fix a part of me

you didn’t even know is broken.

But you do.

And I think that’s OK.

I’ve learned it doesn’t have to be complicated.

We speak silently, invisibly,

with words.

And I hear you perfectly.

And it’s making us brave.

The mountains have shut my mouth,

the sea washes away my words,

and distance is keeping us safe.

It’s burrowed under every iron train rail,

nestled in the old Swiss eaves, and

tucked in the quiet corners of loud Italy.

But it’s your turn.

I’m only speaking silently until

you’ve been made brave enough.

And then the train rails,

the eaves and the corners

will yield up

what can maybe heal you, too.

July 19, 2013 (I think)

Hello. I Have a Few Questions. And There Are Some Things I'd Like to Say.

Did you ever wonder

why it took me so long to fall?

Did you ever look at my eyes

and wonder what web of

confusion, doubt, hurt, hesitation

existed and want

to exist behind it?

Could you see my pain, and

did your compassion almost

rule your flesh?

It’s ok if you didn’t.

I flit around, and with one wave of my magic wand,

wispy silver dances in the air,

and suddenly you are not in the same place,

though we haven’t moved.

I’m a handful.

But your hands are strong-

they can hold my writhing soul

and still have a hand left over to hold mine.

I don’t care if they are dirty-

it’s your becoming.

Don’t give up on me-

I only saw the fireworks yesterday.

July 5, 2013

A Reaction to Les Mis

It doesn’t even matter.

Our soul, when we won’t give up

after we cannot stand.

The fierce fire matters-

the battle to the death for something right,

to fight against the impossible

because somewhere,

you have caught hold of that spark

of infinite possibility.

When power fires, pulsing through human veins,

when the underdogs rise,

propelled by visions above

base humanity.

When a heart gives what a human couldn’t-

mercy.

When love overcomes fear and hate,

when sins are forgiven and hearts change,

this is what we live for.

For the power we have

to bring heaven to Earth,

to change the fate of innocent souls,

to bring joy to those who might have

suffered from lack of it,

had we held our peace.

Not justice-no, justice never saves.

Mercy-mercy changes lives,

mercy is the hand when all else is gone.

When broken hears forsake themselves, and bleeding, love.

We live for the joy that strikes us to the bone,

for the angels that speak to nothing

but the soul,

for the times that our souls are touched by God,

and we give Heaven to someone else.

We are made by none other than moments of purity-

pure humanity, divine humanity.

This, this is what matters-

for better or for worse-

to hear the people sing.

July 20, 2013

Leaving

Goodbye.
Au revoir.
Auf wiedersehen.
Arrivederci.
Reaching farther into the depths, 
Goodbye.
I cannot fight this necessary evil
but I can take the soul-
it has become a part of mine.
And now I have places that
are my refuge, places
where dreams became reality,
and I'm taking them with me-
home.



July 20, 2013

A Prayer

I’m scared.

Terrified of the things I can’t change.

Burdened by the things I could

but didn’t.

But sustained by the things I can.

It’s those same things which are familiar to me-

Yes. This is something I have

a choice about.

God, my Father up in the Heavens,

hear my plea.

This has nothing to do with those things.

They are not truly important.

It has to do with those three people

I love fiercely and will miss terribly-

my family-

and all the rest of them that I don’t think

I can bear to leave.

I need them, Father.

I need them like I need the blood

running through my veins.

When I go to take a deep breath,

I’ll choke because they’re not there.

But You will be.

It’s going to be uphill, Father. I know that.

But give me new blood,

just the kind I need

to breathe life into my new world.

July 19, 2013

Vernazza

They took me though strange lands,

mountains in clouds, and

churchbells that sang with the birds.

Loud, steady, hot.

Black under the rock.

And then, wild and higher than St. Peter’s dome.

Craning for a look,

Feeling myself growing.

They put me on a platform,

took the wind and left the still warmth,

speaking to me as if

I was the only one embraced.

The most unassuming of places,

protected my nothing but respect.

The air breathed welcome-

can I stay?

There is nothing but sunlight bleeding through the walls.

But further down-

can you buy this?

Can we really pay for something

meant to be unbridled and eternal?

But I took it from them-

I took the part that is free for men everywhere-

because it’s God’s, and He doesn’t charge.

I am not ruler here-

the voices surface from deeper in the earth.

The ancient is quiet-

those absent speak to me,

and my soul yearns

to learn what they remembered,

even before I was born into the forgetting.

The Virgin Mary watched

my reverent footsteps,

and I needed nothing

but to become this

as serenity enveloped me.

I decided, up on that

precipice of time, that

when I am broken

I will go there to heal.

They took me away. But I took it with me.

The old, slanted steps,

the lady that knew what was more important,

the lights slanting off the rocks, and

the pathway of rock and hay, which is,

in it’s humblest form,

paradise.



July 13, 2013