Fading

Rainbows fade,
Sunflowers wilt.
Their beauty
Only lasts
For a certain time.

The sun will rise,
Just to set.
The day ending
Whether you’re ready
Or not.

The young stallion,
Grows old and Arthritic,
In what seems like
One rotation around
The sun.

The heart breaks,
In an instant,
Without warning,
When the unexpected
Takes it’s firm hold.

Confidence,
Shakes and fails.
Causing doubts, disbelief,
That anything done or said
Will ever be correct.

Rainbows fade,
Sunflowers wilt.
Maybe to teach us
To enjoy what we have
While we have it.

Eyes

Eyes
Are said to be a window,
To what lies within,
To the secrets that try
To stay hidden.

Colors
Shine and reflect with what
they’re holding, with what
They’re feeling. Seen
by those who care to look.

Shapes
Work inside, allowing them to
See outside, bringing the world
To their heart. Letting them decide
Who, or what, to believe.

Waiting
To see, to find another,
A complimentary color, shape,
Who looks into the window,
But finds a mirror instead.

Cidney’s Song

What makes a song
a song—
Something worth singing,
repeating—  
Worth sharing with others?

Sincerity.

He sings from within,
his eyes full of light,
When he sees,
When he hears,
His person, his place.

His melody holds strong,
His heart full of joy,
When he runs,
When he jumps,
His life, his love.

He writes the harmony,
His mind adjusting,
To his new role,
To his new lot,
His home, his forever.

What makes a song
a song—
Something worth singing,
Repeating—

Sincerity.
A story worth sharing.

Writer’s Block

Writer’s block
Is simply
A fear
That the words
That come out
That get put
Down
On paper
Won’t do justice
To the images
Floating
Around
In your head.
That what you
Write
Will be lost,
Will not mean
Anything
To anyone
But yourself
If you’re
Lucky.
But do your
Best
To push the fear
Away.
Let the words
Out.
Taking the chance
Is better than staying
Silent.

Easter

Humble wood,
from the bark of a simple tree.
Seemingly innocent, but this
is where You died for me.

The bark nailed together,
You nailed to it.
You did nothing wrong,
but here, You paid my debt.

You were mocked and laughed at,
cursed at and jeered.
You could have saved Yourself, but You stayed.
So my name could be cleared.

To the tomb You went,
locked behind a stone.
But here, You wouldn’t stay.
Your place is on the throne.

Three days later, You conquered
death and the grave.
All that suffering and torture,
so that me, You could save.

No greater love exists,
than what You showed me here.
You tore down every wall.
You took care of every fear.

Sin has no hold anymore,
death has no power.
All my thanks goes to You,
my Lord, my Strong Tower.

If I Had

If I had
Tried it first, earlier
in life,
I would have had more
Time,
To be better.

If I had
Never quit, or given up
the dream,
I would have had the
Chance,
To be the one.

If I had
Never tried, at all
to compete,
I would have never felt
The heartbreak,
Of never being enough.

If I had
Chosen this, instead of that
aspiration,
I might have more
Answers.
Or I might be even more
Lost.

If I had,
Or if I hadn’t…
Would I still be
Who I am
Now?

Cap

It’s mostly royal blue,
With some fading along the edges,
From the Arizona sun, over time.

There’s a simple white letter,
That’s not so clean anymore,
From red clay dirt, with age.

Salty sweat trails peak and plateau,
Showing the highs and lows
Of a season, of a life.

What’s its purpose, why
Was it made? Only for protection?
Only to shield? To shade?

It protects more than skin,
But knowledge, wisdom, a
Love for the game and those who play.

It shields from the storm,
When the game, life, gets hard,
Absorbing the pelting drops with ease.

It handles the thunder, the anger,
Holding together as wind rips through,
Still there when the gusts are over.

It shades a smile, a grin,
A laugh bigger than life,
A person who loves his profession.

It’s mostly royal blue,
With a simple white letter,
It protects, it shields, it shades—

And it’s more than just a cap.

Shot

Sometimes you take a shot
And get lucky-
Everything fits and looks just right.

Other times the shot
Needs some editing, some revision-
Before it works according to plan.

Sometimes you simply miss
Completely, utterly, fully-
And are left with crumbled pieces.

But sometimes what you make
Out of the pieces, from the mess-
Is better than what you had hoped for.

Is better than what you had planned.

Choose

How do you choose
Between—
Two people,
Two lives,
Two dreams?

When the choice changes
Everything—
That is,
That was,
That could be?

When your heart aches
For each—
Possibility,
Probability,
Prosperity?

But your head longs
For logic—
Security,
Stability,
Sensibility?

Which is the right, which
Is the wrong—
Direction,
Decision,
Destination?

Or is the mistake
Simply—
Not choosing
Anything
At all.

Little Things

It’s the little things 
most don’t notice.

An ear, flicking
Listening,
To what you say.
Whether it’s voiced.
Or through movement.
Or not at all.

An eye, blinking, 
Thinking
Of what you want,
Warm and soft, full.
Or cold and distant.
Empty, unforgiven mistakes.

A muscle, twitching, 
Reacting,
To something small.
A reminder of how light,
How soft, sensitive,
You need to be.

A muzzle, blowing, 
Searching,
For anything you might give. 
Breathing into your palm, 
Or your ear. Putting you 
Back together. 

It’s the small pieces of 
Themselves. 
They so freely give,
To replace the pieces 
Of our own hearts 
That go missing. 

And it’s these little things, 
Most don’t notice.