Rubik's Cube.

It had taken work

to align the pieces of my puzzle,

to settle them comfortably

into their cliques of red, yellow, blue.

Now, with a twist of your wrist,

you bend me out of shape.

A submissive shrug, an uncontrollable jerk,

and my squared eyes ask,

“How dare you undo order?”

From Flight 3318.

Is this what it’s like to be God?

– to see every edge of the earth

all at once

cloud-encircled, cradled, calm,

and pleasingly not-so-calm.

There is no boredom here,

where the shadow of the valley of death

checkerboard-jumps

to an Edenic green patch

instantaneously.

In a few inches, we move miles

(move mountains, just move somewhere).

Sitting stationary, we fly.  

(yes, it HAS been a while since I've posted here. I don't really use xanga anymore...)

Words Have Spilled.

Words have spilled from through my lips—

words meaningless and all too soft—

which were, as sweet but selfish sips,

mere dregs when drunk too oft.

I wasted words on woes of me—

yes, me, the character I best know

of whom I spoke in frivolities

to any who would view my show,

despite its lording, as it staled.

The petty praises flew to pride

as, tired, I told and re-told tales

again to taste me magnified.

For words too watery left a drought,

I pack them up to pour me out.

"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness." Philippians 2:3-7

Now, Let Us Be Thankful.

Now, let us be thankful for all blemished things—

            For faces of zits and those faces called wrong;

                        For ideal graces felt alack.

It’s for these scars the down-trod sing

            Their marred, melodic, minstrel songs,

                        Proclaiming peace which none attack.

A peace when only that inside

            Is deemed enough for all around,

                        For all who pass and all who look

Toward broken brilliance many hide

Within a beauty oft mistook.

Stepping Stones.

O rocks, you stand in line for me,

Awaiting falls of gentle steps.

Within the garden path, I see,

There lies your hidden secret kept.

A destination now unknown

Reveals itself in passing time,

A jagged promise slowly shown

By you, the guards of peaceful clime.

As I, a stroller on your way,

Entrust to you my every day,

My path, your rocky routes divide

And still your guidance here resides.

So, as I travel, faith is gained:

Direction crackled yet sustained.