The true north
That’s you to me
The magnet to my metallic soul
You are the south wind
A cool breeze in the trudging heat
My companion over shifting sands
You are the eastern rise
That shining laugh
Breaking these clouds like twigs
You’re the flaming west
Vibrant painting in the heavens
Reminding me an end is just a beginning
I need no compass
I’m content to trace circles with my steps
To taste all of you
A whisper on the wind
A fay in the forest
Youth and joy
All things holy
A secret in an ear
A footprint in the grass
An upturning of stones
All in curiosity
A beating of a heart
A quickening of pace
A ringing of the phone
All determination
A hand to guide the way
A voice to calm the storm
A solace in confusion
All of the lights
I’m done pretending
Done focusing on the ending
Done with the messages they’re sending
An exercise in the power of inventing
A god, a structure, a tithe they’re spending
They forgot the curtain and it’s rending
Abandoned the garden and its mending
Closed eyes and forced behaving
Hypocritical pontificating
Said a prayer for a quicker ending
Asking for a sign that you met me
That you listen to a heart that’s been offending
That you’re even worth comprehending
Then the words pierce through
You can’t demand of God
A friend’s voice on the ear
You can’t understand God
Stop pretending
You have the power over your own memories.
They are your possessions.
Just like that dusty yet treasured book that has a specific place on the shelf, we hold some memories with the highest of value.
The others? We often stuff them into old cardboard boxes; shoving them into an attic, telling ourselves that one day we’ll make the trek to the thrift store to be rid of them once and for all.
But every book has its value for those willing to read behind the lines. It’s up to the reader to find the author’s intent. The deepest of themes are not always readily apparent. The reader has to view the book not as a simple thing of paper and cardboard, but as a living, breathing force of wisdom and meaning.
You have the power to do that with your story.
The memories you hold as negative have something of value as well. They offer lessons to be learned. They’re often mixed with positive memories. A glorious, poignant melding of love, pain, joy, loss, and sacrifice. When we write off these more intricate memories as being wholly negative, we throw out the beauty with the ugliness. We miss the point of our own stories.
Breathing
In those moments you have sight
Feels different
It’s not a scent on the wind
But an awareness
Opening your lungs
Enrapturing the mind
Birds aren’t just birds
They’re contrast on the painted field
A balance to the solemn ground
With flitting driven joy
Family members
Two becomes three
You see
Then you see
Words by Terry Schoenacker
Being alone.
For the purpose of later refreshing a connection.
Coming back together.
Separating yourself so you can hear the spirit speak.
Softly.
It’s knowing that you need fresh air, even if you still feel stubborn.
It’s the slow alteration of posture, the shoulders soften and your eyes look upward slightly.
Instead of staring forward you begin to look around.
Suddenly grace is attractive, and forgiveness starts to form sentences in your head.
Without being alone, the process would be lost.
But being alone is never the goal.
No matter what,
I will always want to be one with you.
I feel the future like a physical force
Pulling us forward
To light and beauty
To communion
In a cyclical progression
Dust to dust
Ashes to ashes
Breath and bone and purpose
Together
Reaching as one
Stretching as an arc
Bending towards justice
They fear it
A fear of power not stolen
Of rights inherent
Of eyes finding truth
I hoped to never have to live without you.
I realize now that I’ll never have to.
Even though we can’t talk.
Even though we can’t cuddle.
Even though we can’t laugh together anymore.
I’ll still always have those living memories.
I’ll always have the difference you made in my life.
You forever changed who I am and how I love.
I’ll still always have you.
I heard you close the car door
Feeling you’d made it undiscovered
But my eyes had seen more
The whole damn night
Watching out that window
Dry eyes on rainy streets
Didn’t think you’d be home
The whole damn night
That must’ve been some music
Electric and electrifying
The ecstasy of the erotic
The whole damn night
You had sleeping hearts back here
Ones that need you more
Than the one you danced with
The whole damn night
It’s all past and not future
But you can’t live it down
One night and then corruption
Your whole damn life
Do I seem desperate to you?
Do I seem like I just can’t let go?
Do you think I’m childish?
Too hopeful?
Too dedicated?
Too clingy?
The truth is
I’m not any of those
The truth is
I miss you more than anything or anyone
I have ever known
The truth is
I’m scared to death
That you’ve stopped feeling
The same way
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