Upon the path are many wonders.
Some I feared.
Some I treasure still.
But most I have forgotten.

Only half way through the journey
did I find what mattered most.
It joined me early in my walk.
Stayed with me patiently
until I understood its meaning.
Never leaving when I wandered off
upon a broader path.

It is still there, forever there.
And I have not forgotten.

© 2010 Wasted Space Publishing

God sees out,
our future predestined.
But it is a crooked path,
changed by freewill.

For in heaven the view
is more than mere mortals see.
Destiny, interwoven
with the choices of men.

© 2011 Wasted Space Publishing

soothing escape into happiness,
with brighter skies on brand new time.

no harsh confinement in loneliness,
or brooding storms obscuring ominous lies.

in a flash of the mind,
new awareness.
in windswept horizons of primeval terrain,
new consciousness.

like a blossom of omnipotence.
the infinity of finite time.

© 2010 Wasted Space Publishing

I cheat on a daily basis.
I lie at an incredible rate.
and I get away with it.
It’s great.

but the well of my soul
is emptied with every lie.

and I can only draw water
until the well runs dry.

then I die.

© 2010 Wasted Space Publishing

Restless is my mind, and weary, too.
Eaten up by the things of this world,
Searching for refuge from the eternal storm
Raging in the unsatisfied soul of man.

For there is no knowledge in man.
So I must trust instead an offer everlasting.
What man seeks is not wisdom.
So I will obey instead what is from the beginning.

And the heart of God stills then the waters
I could not calm through the searches of my soul.
Tranquil now is my mind, and clearing, too.
Filled with the glory of an awakened world

And a world to come.

© 2010 Wasted Space Publishing

Think about me when you wake up in the morning.
Think about me on your way to work.
Think about me when I’m right there with you,
Just like I think about you.

Think about me when your day is over.
Think about me when you’re ready for bed.
Think about me in your dreams,
Just like I think about you.

Maybe by the way I act sometimes,
you can’t tell how much I think about you.

Maybe I hide behind the way I act sometimes,
Because I never know if you’re thinking about me, too.

© 2011 Wasted Space Publishing

Thirsting for you,
lost in the weeds
of what life is becoming.

Longing to quench
the little, dry disappointments
of a day to day without ending.

Unable to dredge you from the depths
of decisions that have already been made.

Unable to reclaim the drops of time
before they evaporate away.

Hoping to glimpse your sail
far across this vast ocean
separating the world.

Thirsting for you,
my little girl.

© 2014 Wasted Space Publishing

Truth is an absolute,
standing astride the tides
of passing thought
that try to change its meaning.

Beauty is a murky oracle,
conjuring images in a crystal ball
of reflected light
to glimpse what it can never clearly see.

And ugly truth careens headlong
into what beauty means to be,
leaving shards of man made myth
to reflect the intentions of eternity.

© 2014 Wasted Space Publishing

I was his favorite.
I don’t know why
(well maybe I do),
but I knew.
So, I could not disappoint him.
So, I hid my self from him.
And still I was revealed.

But from God I cannot hide
my weaknesses,
my inadequacies,
my self.
So, I disappoint Him.
So, I hide from Him.
And still He reveals Himself to me.

Grace for what I can not do.
Mercy for what I’ve already done.
Salvation revealed on crossed timbers,
as if I were a favorite son.

© 2010 Wasted Space Publishing

Read old books.
They take us to places
We can’t go any more.
They transport us through time
To worlds we don’t remember.

Read old books.
They reveal the beginnings of ideas
We take for granted.
They unfold again for us the ideas
We’ve forgotten to believe in.

We live in a world of the new.
We believe in a world that changes.
But it is a trick of time.
The world is still the same.
Men are still the same.
And what we believe in now
Are only the accessories.

So, read old books.
Make sure your children see you.
And perhaps when they grow old
They, too, will
Read old books.

© 2011 Wasted Space Publishing