Same Mountains as You


The Gift of Seasons

She folded the soft orange blanket

That had been speckled red over time,


hugging it tight as the wind

Tried hard to pull it away

To join the other lost blankets

Decorating the ground,


she took a deep breath,

Letting it go as a gift to the wind,

And welcomed quietly the cold.


Photo Credit: Foto Pau Flickr via Compfight cc

The Loudest Fall

Depending on how you look at things, depends on how you see them. So many meanings for so many words, what is beautiful for one is terror for the other. The same two things can be used to talk of two different things and have entirely different meanings.

She loved so deeply

That her heart took root

To everyone she met.

The problem was that often times

The ground she chose didn’t deserve

The roots she grew,

Taking them away just to destroy

Everything that stood above the surface.

Till one day when the roots gave in,

Knowing they couldn’t take another blow,

They let go,

Pulling away,

Taking so much with them,

And it destroyed them both.

In My Stillness

We fight the stillness,

Trying our hardest to avoid the darkness

And the quiet that it brings,

Because even when we’re screaming in our own minds

For someone to save us from

The crowds of people taking over,

The quiet still seems lonely.

If only I would learn to let you speak.


Not just in the moments when the storm is higher

Then I know what to do with,

Or when the walls are too slick

At rock bottom that I can’t pull myself up,

Or the times I feel so lonely,

Forgetting who to turn to when I can’t feel you there.

But, in the moments when I feel you sitting there,

So strongly, waiting,

I can’t help but be anything but still.


Even when my mountains crumble,

Yours stay strong,

Screaming their adoration without saying a word,

The ocean crashes against the walls you gave it,

Obeying sometimes more silently than me,

In my stillness I am learning,

I can see, that you do so much of this for me.


From Where It Comes 

I scream at the mountains
Receiving nothing in reply,
I cry to the river
And it passes without comfort,
I shout to the stars
And they are silent to my plea,
I sit with the flowers
But their petals offer no advice,
I whisper His name
And He’s already there. 

A Place for Lost Things


Stacked high are the books

of untouched pages,

holding all the words I’ve

forgotten to say every time

I’m with you,

of folded letters with no stamp,

and napkins with poetry just thrown away,

you make me remember

that meaningless chatter,

is like broken glass

in the silence of your company,

my words are never lost on you,

but in you they escape my mind,

never to be heard.


To say that it’s been a while since I’ve done any writing is a really sad understatement, and I hate it. I hate it more than anything, because some days I miss it and other days I don’t as much as I want to. I’m sorry for the absence, I really am.


Photo Credit: <a href=””>alessanyika</a&gt; via <a href=””>Compfight</a&gt; <a href=”″>cc</a&gt;


Happiness (n.)

I know I looked at him with so much
awe and wonder,
I might as well have been looking at the stars,
and all he ever saw was the slightest of smiles,
If even that much sometimes.
He was happiness,
Wrapped in human form,
His soul shown so brightly
that every time he smiled
you could see it coming from his eyes,
The funny thing being
that I don’t know if he ever really saw it,
Because he was always so busy
looking for the constellations in everyone else
that he never had time to find them in himself.

Are You My Father?

How can you be my Father?

When the one on earth

Who is supposed to love me

Can’t even do that.

How can you be my Father?

And show me a love

That I never will deserve.

I will never please you,

And I can’t ever love you enough,

Especially when I can’t grasp

Even a fracture of your wonders.

Can you be my Father?

Show me how it works,

Be my love when I truly have none,

And make me see just what it means

For you to be there for me.

I’m sorry for my faith,

But I don’t know if I can see,

All the love you have for me.

Please, Be my Father.

This particular post is harder for me to share than it was for me to write, and in this case that is saying a lot. A few weeks back in church they touched on the idea of trusting God, especially trusting him as our Father. This concept to me is particularly hard because the earthly father that I know isn’t one that you would ever want to associate with God. So when most people talk about God being our father, I try my hardest to take it lightly and not overthink it. Because if I overthink it, I cannot grasp it as the good thing it’s supposed to be. I know that as a Christian that I am not supposed to admit to such things, but I feel as though I am just scratching the surface even after many years.

The Floor Likes Hugs Too

Quiet? No. In fact I say a lot,

You just don’t listen close enough,

I speak through more than just my words,

And I wish that you could understand,

I hide my face among the clouds,

Lying on the floor

In the bottom of my mind,

Sometimes praying to exist,

I’m the shadow,

I’m the light,

I’m the death of myself,

Never black and never white,

Silence doesn’t have to be sadness,

and sometimes maybe the floor just needs a hug.

People often wonder why it is that I’m so quiet, and I often wonder that myself. But the truth is, the world needs more quiet people, people with loud minds and big imaginations. The world needs more quiet people because there is always someone that needs someone to talk to, someone who will just sit, and listen as they go on and on about the problems of the world until they realize they’ve solved it themselves. Someone to listen without input, who isn’t just listening so that they can respond.

To Paint You

How I wish I could paint the way my heart feels when I look at you,

A living, breathing, life sized work of art,

It’s not just the way your face contorts to happiness,

But the way it fills the air with something so rare,

It can’t be repeated.

I could paint another human easily,

But never could I duplicate the true look of ecstasy that sets fire to a room

with nothing but a breeze to encourage the embers.