This Time 6/12/26
Maybe I won’t forget you so easily.
Maybe if I can just eat more spaghetti,
Go on long walks with the family dog,
Play classical music (Beethoven, slowly),
Take some photos of tiny frogs,
Read of romance and call it me and you,
Listen to Folsom on the drive home,
Text you with questions and weird book reviews,
And buy ice cream flavored with honeycomb,
I won’t lose the feeling of your hand on mine
And the hope that you love me and aren’t far behind.

The Remains 6/21/26
You wrapped me in a blanket, held me tight
Like something rare. Such memories fade and die
As fruits fall, then soon rot upon the ground.
I know your voice but cannot trace the sound.
My mind grows empty, tired of holding on
To dreams and dandelions that long are flown.
Three words remain: He loves me. And I find
Time’s worms can’t eat what forms the very rind.

It is my second summer of being in a long-distance relationship. I thought the second time around, I would be able to hold on to memories more easily. I thought wrong.

As a poet who deals with imagery, I hate to admit it, but I have a poor memory for faces and sensations. I can’t recall what my boyfriend looks like without looking at a photo. Remembering what it is like to hug him is just about impossible when we’ve been apart for more than a few days. Reuniting with him weeks or months afterwards comes as a shock every time. I forget how beautiful his eyes are. I forget what he smells like (in spite of my slightly disgusting efforts to put off washing the sweatshirt he left me with). I forget the overwhelming feeling of being in love. It knocks me over, like being hit by a train that I couldn’t hear or see coming till it was right on top of me.

Dreams have always been a great comfort to me when I couldn’t see someone I loved. Last summer I dreamed about my boyfriend every now and then, which lifted my spirits. Though I couldn’t remember what it was like to be with him, in my dreams my memory is startlingly accurate. Our dream reunions were more fantasy than fact, but they brought back sensations I thought were lost. Unfortunately, this year my summer job that requires me to wake up at 7 am to an alarm has taken away my ability to remember my dreams.

I spent one precious day with my boyfriend this weekend, followed by one night of pleasant dreams. It was too short, and I have given up trying to hold on to the details of what it was like to be loved. You can’t bottle an emotion and revisit it later. You can’t catch a falling star, put it in your pocket, and save it for a rainy day (sorry, Perry Como). But I remember that I am loved— isn’t that enough?

God has been gracious enough to give me an earthly love that I can hold onto when times get hard. It is by no means flawless, but so far it has stood the test of time. I am hopeful that when we see each other face to face, this veil of forgetfulness will once more fall away and we will know each other as we did before.

Perhaps this is a small picture of what it will be like to be reunited with our Lord Jesus in glory. Though we forget him, he has never forgotten us. Though we cannot see him, we can rest secure in his eternal and unchanging love. Our hope in his return sustains us through the woe and weariness of this life. Come, Lord Jesus!

Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful summer!

Ruins 4/7/26
Truth picks its way beneath the ruined brambles
That once formed an intelligible home.
I thought my palace far from gone to shambles,
Though thorned vines sprang up boundless from the loam;
I thought they'd turn out roses in the end
And bless my life the nice, old-fashioned way.
But I forsook the journey, failed to tend
The plants that promised glory any day.
They grew to hard and bitter weeds of fear.
Vines choked my walls and turned the soil to dust,
Dried up the source of water (not my tears),
And left supports collapsing into rust.
I should have loved the home I had, not yearned
For lovelier views.  Now all my dreams are burned.

? 4/10/26
Question marks fill my field of vision.
Am I in a normal relationship?
Am I in a better one?
Nothing that I thought was possible
And sweet reaches my senses now.
A scythe hangs off the end of my bed.
I like to watch it swing in the night,
When I contemplate my own fate.
Whispers of sunshine and rain battle
For dominance in my tired, tired brain.
And I think how everything has to end;
Whether a statement or a query,
Even run-on sentences can’t be forever—
Or can they?????????????????????
 ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? 
  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?  ?
     ?     ?    ?     ?     ?     ?     ?     ?
       ?          ?           ?           ?         
             ?           ?           ?

                    ?           ?

                           ?

Crossing 4/12/26
I consider whether to kiss him or turn away,
And find that every road brings me back
To childhood, when I would never show fear or love.
Now I come to a crossroads and stand still.
I turn the cross over in my hands and pray
For wisdom and guidance.  I always say
The right words, bow at the right time,
But I don't cross my chest-
That one real choice
Might feel too much like mine.

4/15/26
Houses I thought were midway to completion
Are left empty, doors hanging on hinges,
No windows in the frames, lights dead.
Some worlds that I thought would be peopled eventually
Are deserted now.  All signs of life are fled.
Yet one place I know
Is celebrating its housewarming.
One world anticipates a new birth.
What marks a home to be made, love to last?
How many tears is it worth?

Apologies for not posting in so long! I have been busy all semester with plays and conferences and senior projects. In my free time I have enjoyed binging book series such as Vinland Saga by Makoto Yukimura and The Mistmantle Chronicles by M. I. McAllister, taking breaks to chug through Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë and, currently, Vilette by Charlotte Brontë.

April is National Poetry Month, so I have resolved to write as many poems as I can and share the best. So y’all get a dump of poems on various, perhaps depressing topics. It is a difficult month for me as I approach the end of college and the start of a season of uncertainty and loneliness. I have so many questions about the future, and no one can answer them for me.

If anyone has a poetry prompt for me, let me know! I am always looking for reasons to write more.

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Almost, Nearly, Not Quite 2/11/26
I could have married cruelty, and been heir
To David Bowie, Beach Boys, Norah Jones.
We were some kind of heroes, our affair
Almost resembling love.  God only knows
How well my children would have kept a tune,
My sister-in-law fiddle like the band
That rose a sinister nefarious moon.
In new dreams, my near sister seems to stand
Phoebe Bridgers’ screams.  I don’t know why
She lost herself and no one knows the end.
Why do we always have to say goodbye?
Her serotonin brother’s my best friend,
But he plays Queen and Folsom and I’m gone
To where the dewy fields stretch on and on.

As the play gets closer I spend a little too long every day wondering who my future family will be and who they could have been.

I don’t know how it would ever have worked out with my high school crush, really. But I would have had the best of music in every playlist and the best in-laws in the whole world. I try to love the music that my boyfriend plays for me now in the car. But I am older and it is harder to change my taste. And when I hear that song by Phoebe Bridgers or The Beach Boys I’m brought back to the cold thrill of desires I used to know.

So many bad things are in the past. So many unknown things are in the future. I would be a fool to prefer the past, but there will always be a voice telling me that if I look backwards I might find what I’m missing. Will I ever find what I’m missing? I think of a person who I’ve never met and may never meet, and I wonder if she is that missing piece who would give me the extra information I need to be certain of a happy future. I listen to her music and pretend to know and understand her. She’s someone I would have liked…I can almost imagine. Almost, nearly, but not quite. Now the playlist is over and she’s gone from sight.

The future's unwritten, the past is a corridor
I'm at the exit, lookin' back through the hall
You are anonymous, I am a concrete wall

— Smoke Signals

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I’m sorry for the depressing writing. Don’t take everything I say as a reflection of my actual feelings. It’s winter, and I post poetry to keep out the cold. Thank you so much for reading!

See the Birds 1/27/26
Who was I when I learned to see the birds
And hear them, and name them when they sing?
I was young, and my grandfather would push me
Up again and again in my swing
Until I became the sunshine streaming down.
When I sit alone cross-legged on the floor
I feel the sunshine again even now
And start rocking my head back and forth.
Were I someone else I would ignore the cry
Of juncos and song sparrows. I might not keep
My head pointed towards the open sky.
In the face of real poetry, I would not weep.
I might trip on the stage in the middle of rehearsal
And laugh, and smile at a ripped-jeans girl.
I might not come back every night with heart heavy
From the expectations of a noisy world.
I might walk down the street every morning to class
With friends who know skincare and slippery words
But fail to note the frost on the flower buds
And the sweet answered songs of grey birds.

This week I read a beautiful book called Anybody Here Seen Frenchie? by Leslie Connor. I must say it was one of the best fictional representations of autism that I had ever encountered. Nonverbal autism, no less, which is even more difficult to depict positively because of the communication challenges— but the other characters could read his body language and had little trouble figuring out what he needed, most of the time.

The autistic character, Frenchie, loves birds and stops what he’s doing every time he sees them to watch until they flies away. I often do the same. I think once you start paying attention to birds, it’s impossible to stop. Especially once you learn how to identify them, which I did from a young age. It’s a like a never-ending game of I Spy.

The book made me wonder: who would I be if I wasn’t autistic? Would I stop to look at birds at all? Would I take comfort in being alone? Would I know the joys of stimming? Maybe I would be a better actor if I was more neurotypical (I’m not one of those people who can smile on command. And when I do smile it’s subtle). Maybe I would have a different sort of friend group. I hang out with people who are quiet, quirky, and book nerds like me. I couldn’t care less about learning how to do hair and makeup and fit in with the popular crowd. But I wouldn’t give up what I have for the world.

May we all take the time to appreciate the people in our lives who have taught us to listen closely to birdsong, love the small wayside flowers, and read good books. God made us each the way we are for a reason, I’m sure of it.

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Knives and Illusions 1/20/26
Is love enough?
Would losing you be equal to
The feeling of my professor losing his wife?
A tree stripped of its branches?
A fledgling bird without a home?

If I was another girl
Watching me interact with you, touching your cheek,
I might be faintly jealous of myself.
I might wonder what I could have been
To make that handsome man wonder at me instead.

I have something great and inexplicable
And the part of me that should be enjoying it
Is sitting in another room, bound and gagged.
The other part of me is obsessed with the dark
Impossible possibility of loss.
I turn it around in my mind like fingering the edge of a knife.
It cuts me.  I grow older.

In another life and time I am close to knowing
The other meaning of you.  The one that is forever.
In this life and time we are still together.
What does love mean now? (Not then.
Don’t think about what might have been.)
You may be light but I am drowning
In the deep cold well of anxiety, self-pity,
Wintertime depression.  My lips are chapped
And suddenly I care that you don’t know.

I cut myself again and reality streams in
With a tear or two from my tired eyes.
I’m back again in the campus library.
History books, history majors beside me.

You were always a good thing and continue to be
The best possible friend and boyfriend for me.
I’m nuts to be selfish.  Crazy to lose joy.
In some other world you’re another girl’s boy
And I’m never happy.  Here, I’m happy sometimes.
If I keep surviving through reading and rhymes
I might find some truth in that blue winter sky
And remember who loves me when faith has run dry.

Love is enough, but not by itself.
It demands daily choice, painful sacrifice.
I learn from the God-man who gave of himself
To save us from death, fear, and vice.
Nobody taught me to stay, but he stayed
And with his strength– I drop my blade.

This poem is all over the place, and maybe a few of you got through it. It made sense to post it as a sort of catharsis. I’m still working through the emotions behind this poem, and maybe the ending doesn’t fit but I don’t have a better one. Let me know if you have ideas to refine it!

(PSA: all references to self-harm are purely metaphorical.)

Thank you for reading! May you all learn how to let go of your knives, follow the light, and keep out the cold.

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Dream Deferred 12/29/25
I feel like
A piece of my heart has been torn off,
Thrown on the pavement,
Smashed to bits.
I look down and there's my face,
Round mouthed like a child's,
Looking up at me
From the shattered bones of the earth.
I was foolish, senseless, immature.
I had no reason to hope.
I had every reason to hope and then
It was snatched away.
I had a little star growing in my chest,
The pulse of a future life shining through the present.
It's dim now, and winter clouds block the sun.
But my light is not fully quenched.

This poem was written when I received a rather large blow to my expectations for the next year. It doesn’t change much in the end, but I took it hard. You would think, after all these years of dealing with humans who make promises they can’t keep, that I would be used to disappointment.

It stings just as much every time.

God is the author of our sorrows, and he can take them away or leave us with them as he pleases. Only he can be trusted to deliver on his promises without fail.

Still, I wonder if the benefit of hoping for good things is worth the disappointments that always come in this life. I wrote a sonnet-ish poem about this dichotomy when I was younger:

Hope 5/22/20
Do not allow yourself to hope;
You will die to disappointment in the end,
And if with reality you cannot cope,
You will forever die, and die again.
If you never hope and never dream,
You will not face the loss of foolish dreams,
But never know the warm and brilliant gleam
Of dreams come true--at least to you, it seems.
Is disappointment worth it, or is hope?
Each has its triumph every other day.
When we, in darkness after heartbreak, grope
And see the light of hope's undying ray
We grasp it as our only steady beam.
Hope holds us up, though later we may fall;
And so I say, better today to dream
And lose the dream, than never hope at all,
And die with never one heartbroken breath,
But without any hope of life past death.

What do you think, my friends? Is it better to hope and be surprised when bad things happen, or to expect disappointment and be surprised when they turns out well? Let me know in the comments.

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12/2/25
If you looked up
More stars would slip out of their hiding places
And peek down at your brilliant face.
They would mutter to each other,
"Who is that?  Another one of us?"

They would be wrong.
You are of earth born, your course must grace
Earth's terrestrial bounds, not untold Space.
I cannot expect great jewels of you.
Your work brings forth motors and gas.

Still, I wonder-
For once, your tongue tripped on poetry
And you kept a back pocket of romance.
You're kind still (but some nights I cry).
Do the stars know your nature?  Or do I?

The next poem is inspired strongly by Robert Frost. See if you can recognize the references to Birches.

12/3/25
What do I want to do when I grow up?
I want to be buried in the ground.
I want to release my coffee cup to the woods,
Have it turn into flowers.
I want to cut off my hair and leave it outside
For the birds to use in their spring homes.

I’m tired of walking in circles
On cold cold streets of stone.
I want a little light, a pocket star.
Or maybe I just need to leave this world
(Not forever, only for a while)
And see it in new colors from afar.

Crowns and gowns and jewelry do not thrill me.
My life’s disappointment runs too deep.
I want to climb a tree and dry my hair in the sun–
I want to make new friends, even a lifelong one–
I want to meet my Maker when the time is done.
Oh world, you’re cruel!  But much too good for me.

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Thanks for reading, and I’ll post again eventually I promise! <3

9/20/25
There is no world but in remembering,
No love but in the memory of a smile
And feel of one's whole heart dismembering.
We dream away the time, but in a while
We dream again of days that passed us by,
And places where we tread on golden leaves,
And words, grown chilly under winter skies.
We saw not summer pass.  And now we grieve
(For we bend prematurely towards the grave).
And days past, in reflections of our sighs,
Grow easy, open-hearted, over-brave.
In present hardships, memory often lies.
This precious time let us remember true,
Yet live it fully- as great lovers do.

Lately I have been reflecting on how fleeting my time at college has been. It started not long ago, now it’s almost over, and I fear that some of the most beautiful days of my life are quietly slipping away.

Being in a relationship, meanwhile, is more precious and more challenging every day. It requires having a good memory for the good things that happen, and forgetting hurts that could easily become grudges.

Why does my memory so often tell me that the past is where I was happy and where I wish I could be? I don’t know, but I know better than to listen to it. God has put me in this season by his good and perfect will. What’s more, every season has its challenges, which I can tend to forget when I don the rose-colored glasses of hindsight.

This time has good things in it (loving friends) as well as trials (my ever-fragile body and mind, worries about a job and housing). I pray that I learn to appreciate the time I’m in, remember the past properly, and entrust my future to God.

Song recommendation: “World Spins Madly On” by The Weepies— Their work is nostalgic and this one in particular hits on my fears about the passage of time.

Repose 5/17/25

He who I love more than flowers

(Je l’adore beaucoup)

Has left me with long empty hours

And I can’t tell what’s true.

I don’t believe he has

Des mains plus grands que moi

That once were wrapped around mine,

Now disconnected far.

I go to water roses,

Reposer dans leurs pétales.

As my memory imposes

I beg time to be small.

He who I love more than poetry

Oblige mon cœur a battre.

And I must pen this dirge, you see,

Though all the words fall flat.

3/21/25

It falls into my lap

On the spring breeze:

“I love him.”

And somehow he loves me.

But I fear that if I had to

I would be too proud to kneel.

I’m ashamed of who I am,

And how I feel.

I think too much of death now

And I can’t look at my chest.

All things are lost to time,

My books suggest.

I’m running out of stories

I can tell myself to sleep.

Pain stares out of life’s pores–

The cracks run deep.

My boyfriend works on essays

And advises me to rest.

And Matthew 6– but I still

Feed distress.

I wonder why I’m here

Except to flounder and to die.

But I’ve been given life.

I’ll try to try.

2/20/25

As surely as the snow falls away

I will love you now and for always.

I think of you for half of every day–

But will it come out in what I say?

I predict whether you show up to breakfast

And memorize the drooping of your wrist.

I know how it feels to wear your hat–

But what is it like to be a bat?

I see only the shadow of your song,

The outline of your beard as you drive on

And the stage is flooded with green light–

But can I get backstage? And is it right?

I read the web and dreamed about romance.

My body knows the gracious way you dance.

But something says there’s more I cannot see–

Do I love you? Or who I think you to be?

Can you tell I’ve been studying arguments for consciousness and solipsism? The title is a reference to Thomas Nagel’s famous work (I’m not comparing my boyfriend to an actual bat.)

My rhyming game has not been up to par lately, so I’m trying to get back into it. Hope you like this poem!

Faking 2/16/25

The tornado has passed, now it’s morning

I’m handing out church bulletins

And there’s a rainbow in the sky

Between me and those clouds that look like death.

Yes, just for a few minutes, I smile before the world;

I have clean hair and wear silver earrings.

I don’t look like I’ve barely slept this week.

I don’t look like one of those people

Who wonders whether their life is worth anything.

Yet the longer I stand here,

The more frozen my hands become.

And it’s uncertain how long I’ll keep shaking.

In a few minutes I can retreat inside;

No one will guess that I’m faking…

Why do I love you? 1/25/25

Number one, because you exist.

And existing in this world is a grave miracle.

Secondly, because you make the skies turn blue.

I imagine you drinking tea with another human being

And I am undone by joy

Because I don’t have to look out my window

To know that if you’re living you’ll be laughing all the time.

And thirdly because when I was young

I would watch hawks circle air currents

And call them my friends.

You are my horizon now.  I cannot look away.

I sing, and you listen.  I talk and you reply!

Oh life may be inhospitable for many years at a time

But I forgive the pain of it all that brought you

Here, not only existing, not only being lovely,

But also loving me.

Green Walls 1/16/25

I’ll get you a sword for your birthday

And I’d do a lot more for you too

But perhaps you know that?

It’s another thing that goes unwritten

On the green walls these winter days

(And only every other sunrise

Brings summer winds with it).

Snow melts on my path

And I don’t know what to do when it’s gone.

Drive around with no headlights on

And joke about getting drunk?

Laugh while the rain

Promises to fall?

The planets will move again

And we may still be tiptoeing

Around each other’s feelings,

Swallowing references

To any bluer skies.

It seems my default setting

Is “apart from you”

And I find anything else

Difficult to believe.

Lately goodbye falls off my tongue

Easier than I love you.

But snow melts all too subtly

And I don’t know what to do.

There might be things inside me

That you don’t know.

There might be foreign poems

You couldn’t understand.

I am but a vessel for the words.

And what if someday

A new language comes crashing in,

Dragging my heart along with it?

There might be scenes inside me

That you haven’t seen.

There may be blue skies

That you’ll never comprehend.

At times I feel gilded like a star

Far above this compound earth.

And what other brilliant worlds

Might be contained within me?

Really, I know so little.

But when something beautiful finds me

I remember how to cry.

And when I return to love you again,

Will I be smiling forever?

Will I once more be blind to the sky’s shifts

And forget the passing of the seasons?

Maybe the planets in my eyes

Will crumble at your touch

And I will be a child of this world again.

But each day will be worth it.

For in your choice brave words

(Picked like cherries, just as sweet)

I find the only heaven I’ve ever known.

I finally got around to listening to some music recommendations by a fellow student of French. And I read a wonderful book of poetry (Leavings by Wendell Berry). It’s normal for me to enjoy things that the people I love can’t; that can make me feel bitter towards them. Sometimes I wish I could be left alone forever to read, to write, to love the world around me fiercely.

But I always end up writing love poetry instead of simply talking about myself. That says something about the state of my heart. I need other people in order to create, just as much as I need solitude.

I will be very grateful to return to school and get back to my normal, incredible life. I have changed a little since I left. I’m ready to be changed some more.

He says “I love you” and I have to believe him

It’s the only thing keeping me here

When he’s gone, darkness creeps in and tears seem to win

So I’m desperate to keep his peace near

Amid life’s thorny rows he’s the one flower that grows

But I fear he’ll be crushed in my grip

Mind, keep his words close but don’t drown him with woes

Don’t demolish your own IV drip

Certainly I haven’t been writing the greatest of poetry lately, but when I do it’s very emotional (which is why I’m reluctant to post). This one snuck in during a rare moment of great depression. I haven’t been depressed at all this semester thanks to having good company and a bright outlook— but this week I just got hit with a wave of stress over exams and sorrow over leaving college for a 3 week winter break. My amazing boyfriend was there to get me through the worst of it, but it’s always hard when he has plans and can’t be with me every hour of the day.

Didn’t I post about this earlier in the year— about learning to let go? To love someone we have to allow them to be free to make their own choices. It’s not a simple task. Especially not when you’re lost in pain, and all you can think about is yourself.

Despair is easy, and hoping is hard. But I’m grateful for a Savior who never leaves me and who I can never be afraid of loving too much. After all, He wasn’t afraid of doing the unthinkable, loving us so much as to die for us. That’s my real lifeline.

I’ve been afraid to touch you

But I’m more afraid to leave you

With my arms empty, no flowers to toss aside,

My eyes growing wide with tears.

Just like I want to stop a text conversation

On “see you soon,” not on Unread or “when are you getting here?”

And I’m ashamed that my old flame

Was braver than I,

Hugging me as a parting thought—

While with you

I stood apart and waved a glass goodbye.

It’s rather silly, but I prefer to end things beautifully. To have some parting measure to build a dream on while I’m away from someone. But life doesn’t throw me beautiful things— I have to make them myself. And I fear that on my own I don’t have enough bravery in me.

And yet I have reason to be brave. “Taking things slow” doesn’t mean much to my pessimistic brain that expects bad things to happen and good things not to stay. What if this is the last time we see each other?

Poetry is usually top of my mind, but fear of being awkward usually wins out. And so I turn my head and walk away.

But tears are not slow in coming. Regret follows me, even hundreds of miles away. So I have to conclude that being bold and awkward is better than wasting words and regretting it later.

Be very flattered if I decide to show affection— as an overthinker, I have decidedly thought of every reason not to.

enormity of desire 11/19/24

You are a miracle.  But so often I forget

And I step too close and my body reminds me.

Or I miss your face and the tears start falling

Without my asking.  How am I to hold

This in my hand, this strong clear yearning,

Like a letter I write but cannot yet send?

Must it be my duty to forget?  I must keep

Vigil, but not too long, or be blinded

By so much moonlight.  I must hold this rose

Close to my heart—but not crushed in my grip.

Else the thorns might cut in, and our story would rip.

“Promising,” I say about the last two weeks

As we walk under a streetlight and leaves blow

In a high wind all around us.  What I don’t say

Is that you are the most I’ve ever had,

This is the most sure I’ve ever felt,

This is the one time I haven’t feared the future

Now that you’re in it.  I’m writing poetry

And the end doesn’t fall flat.  I hum a tune

And the sound just gets brighter as it goes on and on

And I know things can only get better from here.

The rain, maybe, is starting soon; the clouds are thick.

But your words are beating in my chest

And hoping never takes a rest,

And though we fail we try our best.

Just “promising”?  I always speak too quick.

Piercing (After Balin) 10/5/24

What would it mean

If I yelled “I love you”

While running towards you,

A spear aimed at your side?

Friend, may God protect you.

(From yourself, and

From my own fears.)

I have been a lion

Pinned to a tapestry,

I have been a deer

That strays from the path.

What if love isn’t the answer?

What if I’m meant to stay silent

                                                         Forever

Rather than hand over my fragile heart

To a black horned creature seated on a rock?

For happiness is not in what we own

Or what we misuse.

I have been told

Of the three-personed God.

I have lifted my lips

To the burning coal.

I am strung out, now, on this fair day,

With half a hand reaching to my misery

And one eye turned towards the sun.

(I think you would become my misery

If I keep mistaking your eyes for the sun.)

The world will keep turning anyways,

You and me on it, or not.  Only time,

Annoying as usual, stands between

Us and the eloquent other side.

I would die ere avow that you’re just fine

But it’s only a month that I’ve been blind.

And now your eyes are piercing mine

And I’ve forgotten my next line.

No, wait, stop, I’m not ready yet

The helmets are up and I cannot see

If you’re who I’ve told myself to be

And what if it’s my brother that I kill

Unknowingly?

What if I pierce my soul and yours,

And we die with no other purpose

But to fulfill our own destiny?

Or what if grace gets between the scars

And we’re not defined by our broken parts?

Maybe you’re more than my fantasy.

Maybe you’re my friend, and that dream can’t die,

And we aren’t reduced to the fires inside.

And the only pure tide:

From the spear in His side.

I think in that flood

(Momentous: His blood)

We will always be satisfied.