SMASHED SAINT

Category: courage

  • the perfect image

    looking under rocks, rubble and falling towers for what it means to be heroic wondering: perhaps perfection isn’t orderly nor sanitized, not to be found in the cleaned-up thing but its beauty, a perfect Beauty, is the weak cry of defiant life stubbornly resisting extinction. perhaps: heroes are made from the glimmering shards of broken…

  • He takes the angry face moments too

    this is my angry face, borne of my angry list of the little insignificant things that have gone wrong in my week, day, and deflated soul that used to be a happy full circle but now is just a dented almost-heart, a crushed oval because the eyes i’m wearing right now suck, they outline all…

  • They’ve Seen Better Days

    The spirit, downcast, grieves The pulmonary rhythms, crestfallen, fall The tears, saltwater waterfalls And the only metaphors this hand wants to offer Are ones that fall like gravity pulling

  • the beautiful wounds

    there are battles everyday, small medium and large, that can stain, bruise, cut and scar our skin, memories, hands and hearts; some of these are more lasting, while others less inclined to be so insistent, less likely to remain after the battle has long ended. i care less for these less stubborn scars, these fast…

  • A Peculiar Cloud

    the way I hold sorrow nowadays is released in songs and quietness; it’s edged with exhaustion and undercurrented with peace it’s a peculiar silver-lined cloud i’ve not preferred the loud wails and epic thunder- storms, hurricanes, floods for quite some time now, prefer a more moderate climate to weather these worries and woes don’t let…

  • Sir Frances Wyatt’s Dream

    of a country full and free tasting of glory and zoe blossoming where all nature, breath, voice and heart blazes with praises to an Almighty One and His covering falls on us thickly, freshly, a land of holy freedom… America My country,’ tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing; land where…

  • Being In Love

    This longing might kill me… The sweetest kind of death

  • Unstopped Life

    It’s strange to taste feel smell see hear Perceive with every fiber and atom that Life, life surely goes on, the earth twirls Drunken tilting on its axis a flirtatious Ballet around the sun barely containing Its stellar fury and magnificence… A grand theater unfolds in the quiet Of this or that thought, tear, punctured…

  • quite simply

    sometimes we don’t want to be anyone’s hero, not even our own or our future children’s children it’s not for want of large hearts, or wells of bravery and nobility, or the stubbornness of faith– no. these we have in unending supply, though some would have us believe they are scarce and dry yes. catastrophes…

  • The Scientist & the Seer

    for Uncle Walter* There are moments of simple wonder when I believe That constellations can be contained inside our eyes, That comets can wrap around our brows like ribbon And fly out our mouths like laughter, There are moments of verdant courage when I believe That nobility and knighthood can never die, That death cannot…