Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Lovetruth

Like most of my love poems this is theoretical at the moment.  But here's to hoping.

Is my love true?
They're not the same, you know.
Love stands on truth's shoulders
And truth without love is dead.

So do I have something to say?
Something I want to say to you?
Because without truth my love doesn't reach.
And right now it's killing you.

Is your truth love?
One's not the other,  you know.
Without love truth is buried and dead.
And without truth love's a song in your head

So do you have something to say?
Something you want to say to me?
Because without love your truth is dead.
And right now this is killing me.

So if there's anything left of us.
Some small measure of truth,
a tiny trace of love.
Could we try again?

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

On being True rather than Right

I confess that I spend too much time trying to "win"  arguments for my own pride.  To lord my superior..... what? Intellect?  loquaciousness? Bloody mindedness? - over others.  I realized what I was doing wrong after reading this:
You know, the older I get, the less I care about being right. I remember when being right was everything. You wanted to win every debate, to brutalize your opponents in any kind of argument, to force them to acknowledge your superior knowledge and experience. It was, in essence, a matter of narcissistic supply, of the confirmation of self-worth through demonstrating superior intellect..... 
Something changed over time. Call it maturity, or wisdom, or understanding of self. Or call it, as I do, a certain intellectual exhaustion. Whatever it is, I just stopped caring about appearances. I didn’t care to prove myself right, or to prove the other wrong.
I wanted to learn. I wanted to understand. I wanted to know truth — regardless of whether or not anyone believed me. It came to the point that I wanted to be proven wrong, in fact, for that would mean I would have discovered a new truth. My own knowledge would have been expanded. I was still emotionally invested in the outcome, per se, but not in the same manner. If the debate granted me no new knowledge, no new perspectives, it was useless. It was a waste of time. It didn’t matter if I had demolished my opponent’s argument. It was still a nothing....... 
I’m much too old for that sort of thing anymore. It is exhausting, chasing after perceived rightness. It is a path to madness. All I want to know is what’s true, and what’s false, so that I might live my own life by those truths, and share them with those I can reach
Me too. 

Saturday, January 7, 2017

The End

The end comes quickly.
It always does.
He's gone.
It's over.
I'm sorry.

Sundering once strong bonds
- as if tissue.
Of life,
friendship, 
love.

But death cannot erase
the fact of life.
Once there,
the memory
lives on.

And what once was,
always shall be.
Ever shining,
evergreen.
In our souls.

"I will always remember you"
"I will always miss you"
"I will always love you"

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Breathe

Repentance is exhaling. We breathe in God's gifts, which give us hope and life. But broken souls produce waste -  hatred, lies, betrayal. Allowed to linger, they accumulate  in deep pits of despair. So we must breathe our sin out every day.

So if a man should cry out to you from the depths, heed his call. If someone gasping for breath asks your forgiveness, grant it.

For they're just trying to breathe.

I want to breathe.