Daily Archives: August 12, 2011

Still Burning Bright


I awoke on the morn’
at such an early hour;
the sun had not yet taken her throne.
The souls of the lost,
and the burned, and the bright
watched me watching their unknown.
Millions of eyes in the wake
with wide open lids
that carry wishes upon heavy hearts,
to the beams into Heaven
to place at God’s feet
with a dream that they may find a new start.

But instead of silver chariots
racing into the dawn,
I watch the lone hole burned into the sky.
A darkening red, pink
and a crimson-colored tale
soaring across the worlds in my eyes.
And I think of the stars
most of which all gone now,
for so many millions of years in the past.
And I wonder of this one,
and what was his fate?
And how long was he able to last?

He burns so much brighter,
stands so much taller,
an unspoken pride in his blaze.
A pyre behind him
with a trailing veil of ash
and the stars that, for him, would part ways.
And his passion is stronger,
and his power is pure,
and he resembles a lion with a mane.
Announcing to his pride
that he alone, would be king,
and all others who oppose should be slain.

And I wonder, with fear
that he might dissolve,
the brightest fires always burn out the first.
I yearn for his words,
for his promise, his vow
that in a few million years he won’t burst.
That as I watch him now,
a million years in the past
he is not already gone.
That as I watch him now,
he is as he was
and he has not left the others to burn alone.

A small comfort to me,
that passion will not burn out
that love itself shall never be smothered.
That the burning star to me
is still passionately
burning bright for now and forever.

Well, the surgery went well (obviously, I’m still here, aren’t I?). Like I said, it was just a minor little surgery, and I was literally out of the hospital by about 10 in the morning. Which was pretty amazing really, and now my surgeries are ALL over! I’m so glad!

This is all about love, and the idea that love is not like a star, or a flame. I always thought it was interesting that when you look up at the stars at night, most of them are already dead. They are so far away, we are looking at the stars that are millions of years older, because that’s how long the light takes to reach the earth. And the saying goes that the brightest stars burn out the fastest.

Love is different. Love and passion that burn bright in the beginning do not necessarily┬áburn out the fastest. If it is true love, passion will never leave the relationship, and the love will never burn out. True love is nothing like a star, it’s eternal.

Fragile – Someone to Belong To


An echo sounded so anonymous,
spent on breath that seemed to never mind.
Felled a heart upon a concrete floor
shattered to pieces that were left behind.
A solemn occasion that one might condone,
a prayer sent high to the lights of God above.
Angels’ tears upon a swollen soul
filled to bursting upon a self-reproaching love.

A child cries with loud belligerence,
sobs to a mother who gives every order strong.
A smile on her soft and weary face
as she ponders how long she’s able to go on.
The child, scared, but more for her than she,
asks a moment if God might have ears for her.
Listen, she asks, won’t you please promise me,
make this a life that she would want to bear.

A touch so soft, it felt a whispered breeze
and words so soft they feel they’ll never scar,
the child bends to retrieve the broken glass,
but the cuts and burns are never too far.
Her fingers bleed from the shards that cut too deep,
torn flesh that screams in pain that’s sheltered there.
The child looks around, cautious that one might see
and see enough to stop, someone that might have cared.

He watches as she tries to keep herself,
glues the pieces back of her now shattered glass.
Takes the pieces in his hands himself,
tears his own flesh instead, that she might be free at last.
She cries because he is now hurt again,
wraps her arms around the boy as he tries.
Whispers her love in soft-spoken pleasantries,
listens softly, and then the child cries.

Everyone else has tried to steal the glass,
won’t touch her for she is just a tortured soul.
Fragile, easy to shatter with a thought,
so gentle that she might have never known.
Her holds her close, and tight with long-locked arms,
so close she feels a burst of welcomed pain.
She is no more a child to him,
but a woman, as such, she feels she will remain.

And she holds him close and thanks him silently,
that he has healed a sorrow buried deep.
So close to her shattered, fragile, glass-broken heart
that she’s given to him for him to forever keep.
And the others to Hell, she insists softly,
she is not a tiny sickly child.
She has been healed for nearly all her life
and only weaker for a little while.

He wrestles her soft and to the ground,
plays as if they had the entire world.
Soothes her with his touch and embrace
lifts her heart with a single word.
He treats her as if she were never ill,
gives her his word that he loves her true.
Promises her that she means his world
and she finally has someone to belong to.