I Need to Write

I discovered a poem

From an American great

About writing and how it needs to “roar” out of you

And that it only makes sense if it’s a light inside you,

Burning you up inside if you don’t do it

 

And yes, this is me

Constrained and confined

 

And then I write,

And it’s better than wine

There are few things more satisfying

 

It burns more bright and colorful than a sunrise

It steams more hot than the first sip of coffee

It burns and it rages and its flames are growling

Like dragons in a dungeon

I feel my heart racing

 

Passion.

Some let it out through song or dance

some through sports or music

Some people don’t have it

And others let it die

But dying might be less painful

Than living a lie

 

I am living a lie

When I have this inside me

That needs to get out

That flows without boundaries

And kills me inside

When it’s inside

 

And it all became so clear

I need to write

 

Inspired by “So You Want to be a Writer” by Charles Bukowski

 

In Our Darkness

October 9, 2016

 

As I sit in an office of concrete walls and concrete floors

The hum of conveyor belts outside the doors

I sit here, on a Sunday

It’s my birthday

But I’m at work, not getting paid for the overtime,

this time, and many more

It’s in this darkness that I feel, that I overcome

That I have some peace

 

The other morning I was walking into work

At 4:00 AM and the streetlamps were off

The pathways were not lit

It was dark

And it was God

Because all I felt when I could see or hear or feel nothing

Was God

 

The thickness of God permeated the air

I was walking through Him, nothing else there

Not a star, not the moon

It was in that darkness that I felt God move

Like a cloud of fog I walked through Him

And felt God move

 

I was silent in His silence

And I wished I could know what He was doing in the dark

Always awake, as we sleep, as we work

He is always there, moving, working, being

His power is thick in our darkness.

Love of my Life

The love of my life is tall.

His body is solid, but gives just enough for me to lay down my head and sink into his chest.

His arms hold our babies. His mustache and beard tickles their sweet faces.

His hair is short and soft, his eyes deep and piercing.

His lips are plump and his nose is perfect.

He has a few freckles but he won’t admit it.

 

He likes to joke, and has a loud laugh.

He is playful and witty, sarcastic in fact.

He loves the outdoors, and manly sports.

He is a bit of a perfectionist and likes to keep his things neat.

 

He is generous, and trusting, and always provides.

He works hard to make sure he takes care of us all.

He is steady, responsible, and consistent.

He is calm but easily provoked.

 

Sometimes I think the love of my life has OCD.

He tells me to turn off the lights when I’m not in a room.

Or close the window as soon as the air conditioner turns on.

Makes fun of my parking and the way that I drive.

 

But he doesn’t give up on me now matter how horrible I am.

He will love me forever, he says, and always be there.

He provides and protects, and always comes home.

He makes sure we have the best of everything we need.

 

He takes his mom out to lunch and never forgets his brothers’ birthdays.

He brings me flowers on Mother’s Day, and takes me out to dinner on our Anniversary.

He goes above and beyond for our daughters’ birthdays.

He is stable and constant, reliable always.

 

The love of my life is tall and has a lot to bear.

But he carries it with grace. I don’t think he’s aware.

He’s tall, and he’s steady, and his shoulder is rest for my weary head.

He is a husband, a father, a son, and a brother.

He is comfort, he is home, he is safety.

He is the love of my life.