We grew older than a Cypress

I saw the future and in it,
I gave out wisdom like wishbones,
Sharp cuts like sawtooth,
And prayers like candy cigarettes to grade schoolers.

I saw the future and in it,
I was round faced and gray beard,
Laughing more at misfortunes,
And crying less for singleness.

I saw the future and in it,
I danced till dawn-dew,
Toasted with best friends,
And was married to my main squeeze.

I saw the future and in it,
My children saved less and gave more,
We grew older than a cypress,
And the kids raked our leaves.

I saw the future and in it,
I was not another suicide,
I was alive.
I was alive.


Better Story

At this moment, at 1:54 am on a Saturday, I wish God was telling a different story. I wish he would have called me into his office before he gave this life the green light; I would have shut the whole series down before the pilot episode.

I’m tired. Just tired. Of the pain and pulling and tugging and tearing and weeping and wishing and caving and crying.

Struggle. I’m tired of struggle.

Perhaps wanting things to be easier sounds like a cop-out. Maybe it sounds like I don’t want to work hard. That I think good things should just be handed to me. Well, it is a little of that, truth be told, but it’s also that I just want more moments of peace and clarity and contentment and they don’t seem to come.

I know it’s not just me. I see every person wrapped in self doubt and insecurity. People that have dreams and can’t make them happen. People who are abused. Rejected. Run-down.

There is a thought that flashes through my mind when I hop on this train. It usually hits me about now … what if this is hell? What if this is eternal separation from God?

God feels like something we all want, but can’t reach. We want things to be better, but we know this is as good as it gets. I call out to God, but the phone is disconnected or I forgot to pay my bill or something.

Don’t get me wrong, we, the human race, we are resilient. We laugh when all we have is taken from us. We sing through the loss of life. We create. We adapt. We love.

But the struggle is still there.

Every night, I ask God for a new tomorrow. For an event that will change my life in a radical way. A peace that transcends all understanding. A paradigm shift.

But so far, it hasn’t happened.

Then, I think of stories of a New Heaven coming down and resting here on earth. I think of God wiping away every tear and abolishing death from every grave. I think of an end to every sadness. An end to hate. An end to struggle.

I want you to make sense of my struggle, because it has cost me my joy almost every day and my life almost every night.

I am upset with you, God, that you knew how bad this life would hurt me and you pushed me in without my consent anyway.

You expect so many things from me everyday. I’m just letting you know, that now, I expect some things from you.


When I feel behind

When I feel behind,
and trust, I feel that way alot,
I like to know the number of
dollars that sit in my peer’s bank account,
so I can calm myself down
with the assurance that
he is also behind.

When I feel behind,
and believe me, there is not a day
that I don’t feel that way a little,
I like to hear a new couple
arguing, so I can remember
that I only have to argue with

When I feel behind,
and Whoa Nelly! do I feel that way today,
I like to average out the number of likes
on various friends’ social media accounts
and compare it to fragility of my
own shaking subconscious.

When I feel behind,
I’m not really myself,
I do a lot of counting
and a fair bit of comparing,
but I never get ahead.