The words are from a poem I wrote last year for Christmas. Always cool to see the marriage of my words and design.
I take more pictures in winter, to keep the still in frames
I sometimes glimpse a bit of spring, through melted snow and flames
The chilly sent of icy rain, hangs throughout the town
The frosty breath of frozen lungs, while snow is falling down
I see a river flow beneath, coursing cold and runneth green
I see a North-bound, rusted train, barreling down with steam
The glow of warmth, bright with light, there’s one I call my home
I pray for the broken, ragged few, who spend this night alone
Where would I be, without this place, into a man been made
I often doubt and cry aloud, hoping again that you’d save
It’s Christmas time in Cincy-town, soon a city colored white
I will rest and spend good time, with my family here tonight
Bless us, Lord! Keep us safe! We fall down on our knees
We pray for much and forget to thank, but now we’re begging please
We are your kids, we hide as such, breaking all the joy you built
We placed on him all the shame, but still carry around our guilt
Take it all! And throw it out! I’ve been hanging on too long
Hope you’ll accept these feeble words, that now come out in song
I am one man and a broken one, you’ve asked to humbly serve
I will fail and fail again, because I haven’t got the nerve
The season is right and ripe with joy, only good comes from above
I pray for heaven coming down, I pray for your unfailing love
“Now they strike us against each other like dry rocks and set us on fire with a hunger nothing can feed.” – AI, from The Great German Army, Russia, 1943
I lost my soul the other day
I couldn’t quite remember where I put it
It wasn’t in the normal hiding places
Then it came to me
But in all the stress of losing it
I didn’t really want it back
Trouble is what it brings to me
Maybe it would be best if I kept it off for a few days more
Do I need it right now?
What’s the worst that could happen?
To a man without a soul.
I don’t think it can rain hard enough to wash all my sins away.
The grove of trees beside our house
shields the city back. The honeysuckle
sprawls and covers us from our unsightly
neighbors; peering like a sea of eyes
from the looming apartment complex.
From the fire pit, the house towers
almost impossibly tall, looking while
the west side sparkles with a thousand
different colored lights.
A home to so many – sectioned off into
separate dwellings – each radiating a
different kind of energy.
The porch, lifted above the sidewalk,
provides the high-ground should any dare
to storm the castle gates. Though, we are
often too tipsy of guardsmen for such an
I will not soon forget this place I’ve lived.
I will not run from nor regret. The couple
that I share it with, are the best I’ve ever met.