Am I A Writer or a Dreamer…?


Am I a writer or a dreamer..?
Do I write to remember my dreams..?
Or Do I write to speak what other’s seldom see..?
Maybe I am a mixture of both,
for my dreams helped me see,
and my words helped me dream,
my dreams helped me feel and my words helped me see,
I am a sea of unconscious dreams,
a sky of shivering stars that represent the infinitude of my thoughts silvery,
Perhaps it is not necessary to distinguish between the both,
I am a wounded healer who helps others see,
and an artist who writes to dream.


For the Love of Poetry – A Poem


I think that the greatest quality of poetry
is in the way that it is calming and quite reassuring.
You don’t have to understand what it speaks,
it needs not your intellect or
, only your participation and meditative en-trance.
It is a deep cavern of humanity’s deepest emotions,
a silent Native american flute of our Universal spirit’s intuition,
The language despite it’s symmetry is fluid and flows like a stream
robed in the midday sun’s golden mysticism,
Poetry reminds us that we are eternal mysteries trapped
between the impermanent,
Poetry reminds us that we are spiritual wanderers struggling
with our fallen, fractured flesh,
Poetry is a glimpse into the heart of a God whose nature is
best expressed in the words’ His ways are higher than our ways’.
Poetry helps me know and inform my passion for something more than
mere fables and imaginative creation,
Poetry helps put words for my eternal passion, zeal and heart for
my Lord… I melt into emotions like waves, I become the wind and
cascade past lost souls trapped in a daze, I cry out with flaming
light and light hopeless hearts with love’s fierce force,
Poetry helps me search the eternal mystery of Heaven, I plunge
into the vast shores of God’s presence..,
What is infinity..?
What is love offered from a being with no blemishes..? No faults and zero limitations..?
My language seems feeble and indigenous to my brain’s familiar themes,
So I struggle to comprehend such a Savior,
I can’t express the greatness of a God whose love is offered to me in
drops and touches.., in peace and gentleness, in the incredible redeeming
healing offered by His grace..,
I can’t understand Perfection enjoying imperfection,
but I can understand who I am in His matchless infinitesimal presence.
I think that He is writing Poems using the emptiness of my soul,
Oh Great love, how I need You in everything, for You complete me in my helplessness,
In my most difficult trials you satisfy even when I feel that you can’t,
You have no measure to which men can claim an understanding of you even when You open yourself up for all.
Oh great Poet and Father of Lights, Oh Great Presence fill our parched human hearts abused by our own hands and hearts, Teach us to enter into You so that we may be made and crafted into something whole and full.

What Good is life without God…? – A poem


I hate when I say,
Wow, God is the ultimate artist,
As if there were a bunch of people with whom He can be compared to…,
Who can be compared to God…?
Picasso..? Houdini…? Kerouac…? Thomas Wolfe…?
Is God not Art Himself…?
Art came from God, didn’t it…?
Poetry came from God… It resounds like an unheard echo in all nature,
the evening chirps of departing birds, the soothing texture of the evening skies,
the delicious trickling of brooks, the sinking warmth that rugged, yet green hills provide,
He who knows the intricate secrets of our hearts , has created for us a world that we destroy,
by our dreams of houses, companies and profits.

What man creates … Lingers on in history,
Treasured by those for whom it opened doors hidden in their own heart,
Appreciated by those who feel like they can never accomplish such a task,
But what a feeble creation… For a man to create what he has created,
it took him his whole life… God did it in just 6 days.
He created the deep and incredible life that we enjoy,
the joys that we can find,
the happiness that we enjoy…
He created our hearts… Everything that there is to know in this world ,
He created it but Why then are we pretending like we know it all…?

Humanity wishes to write its own history,
but humanity cannot create itself,
and so our versions of history are actually our means of coping in a big, mysterious Universe that just screams that there is a creator.

I hate how silent God is sometimes,
because, I… I can hear the echo of suspense,
He is not rejecting me,
I don’t perceive isolation or alienation,
Because it is not in His nature to abandon His own,
But I can’t bear Him being away from me,
I can’t help but cry out,
Because I need Him so dearly in my life,
I can’t do without Him, every minute, every moment,
and every second, my sanity depends on His closeness to my life.
But I am a wretch, a failure when it comes to treasuring the good things,
I know only to destroy, I know how to be careless, self centered, egomaniacal and selfish.
I can’t live with those types of attitudes within myself,
and I react greatly when I see them in others,
I don’t want to be who I want to be,
I want to be like God, I want to express that perfect love that does not require my obedience, or my humility, or greatness,
I know that God loves me despite who I am, and Who I sometimes can be,
I only want this whole life to be about one thing only, to be worthy of Him and to understand what He wishes for me.