Same Mountains as You


Broken at His Feet

I wish I could take it all away

And bottle it up in jars of clay,

All the tears And all the pain,

Stored away on the top shelf,

Out of reach from human hands,

Or felt by human hearts,

But what these jars contain

Is much more than what we think,

And would be wasted If left sitting on the shelf,

We carry them with us,

We carry them in us,

Always for a higher purpose

Than what our teary eyes can see,

Broken before a King,

All the content falling apart Before

His feet.


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. 


Take My Mind Back

Little Hands, Beautiful Minds

No time to put on shoes,

she ran,

from the kitchen with a handful of glasses to catch the rain,

back and forth she went,

till the cupboard was emptied of everything of use,

and the driveway was scattered with glasses half full,

tears came down her face

as she watched the raindrops hit the ground,

trying to smile she looked up at the sky,

begging it not to cry,

she couldn’t understand what had made it so upset.

“Honey, what’s the matter?”

“The sky is crying mommy, and I couldn’t catch it’s tears.”

“But that’s what the ground is for,

it catches all the tears that the clouds cry,

and it grows flowers to make the sky happy again.”


Just a little story for a rainy day…take of it what you will, hopefully it made you smile a little.

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

Find the Music Where Most Don’t 

They sit there,

Their black silhouettes painting a picture

Against the morning sky,

Of silent music written in the power lines,

Patiently waiting for no one

To listen,

But the one who writes the melody,

Giving them a reason to sing.


I Can’t Trust Me

It’s like picking Rose petals,
Plucking promises I don’t know how to keep,
and trusting in all the wrong things.

Here take this,
No I’ve got it,
it’s yours,
I’ll just take care of this one,

It’s a never ending field of flowers,
You’d think I’d learn my lesson,
After all,
There’s just one flaw with my own logic,
All petals picked
By my own hand eventually die anyway.

Worn Out Pair of Shoes

What I’m about to say might not make any sense to you, although I hope it does. I haven’t posted in a while because everything I’ve been writing has felt somehow inadequate. No this is not the “normal” inadequate where I just feel like it’s not good enough and I need a confidence boost. This is a different kind, a more important kind. I have written recently, actually I’ve done quite a lot, but this writing seems more important…The content is probably not exactly what you are used to seeing from me, but here you are anyway.

I have my own way, hidden in my own imagination,  epic stories written by my own hand as if to tell me “this is best,” I walk this earth happy in the dark with a flashlight at my feet, to convince me that you’re the one leading, until you come and whisper quietly to me “You’re almost out of batteries,”
I have a path,
It’s very straight,
Leading right to where I want to be,
Clear and easy till you put up a road block and I can’t go any further,
You’re standing right in front of me,
Pointing to exactly what it is you want me to see,
And yet my eyes are already too busy trying to find another way,
A way in,
Lost and confused,
I’m missing the point,
How do I walk without walking,
Let you carry me,
I’m afraid to move,
I’m afraid to stand still……

I’ll tell you I know exactly how you’re feeling,
that I know exactly where you’ve been,
But I haven’t walked the road you know, not even close,
I wish I’d been there with you,
but there is only one,
he’s gone further than you have yet to find,
he’s in the dark just ahead,
He’s in the light that’s at your feet,
his feet can feel your weariness,
his heart can feel your hunger,
He’s the only one whose walked a lifetime in your shoes,
No matter how many times you’ve tried to take them off or trade them in for a better fit,
He’s always worn them without complaint the whole time he’s carried you,
He knows exactly where you’re coming from and where it is you’re going,
he sees the blisters and bruises,
and what he won’t tell you,
He didn’t take the batteries from you,
But he’s not going to recharge them either.

Not Everything Needs a Name

She had some pretty pages
In between her pretty cover,
It wasn’t loud or obvious,
But tucked inside,
Were the endless possibilities,
That only she could see,
No lock and no key,
The only thing required
Was sincere curiosity,
And a willingness to listen,
For no good book was ever read
To an absent minded audience.