What is this life
but a solemn and playful trek,
all serious and all play,
up the blue mountain?
Is each rut in routine
not a switchback higher?
Is every setback and failure
not another walk in beauty?
Is each opportunity and success
not a moment further to peak?

What are time’s ticking hands
but a careful Craftsman’s
refining the clay in fire,
and to nature what is time
but a season of drought
and a season of flood?
Why must man’s heart ache
in both pain and abundance?
Why not dance in the sun
and sing to the moon?

And what is this life
but a minute to eternity?
And what of time
to that which surrounds it?
What is sin to redemption
and silence to mention?
What is loneliness to being known
and what is poverty to promises?
Why should a mirror exist
when there is the echoing creation?

How could a cosmic whisper
roar louder than the world’s raving?
What is life but a slave to time?
What is time but a passage of water
reuniting to its oceans?
What then is life but
not also returning?
Who then are we to hear
the silent waters, pointing
us back home?


Be imitators of God, as beloved children; and walk in love, just as Christ also loved you and gave Himself up for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma. / Ephesians 5:1-2

Winds in the state of dogwood,
Don’t you whistle out of praise?
Sunlight that breaks through,
Won’t you shine all my days?
Waters falling from rock majestic,
Don’t you rage on for His ways?
Earth so carved and sculpted,
Won’t you correct my gaze?

All of creation be His evidence
And all of creation be emulous

I never heard the winds move for a Voice
That carries the wind in all of its noise
Until I listened
Nor realized the Light is without shadow
That found lit the empty tomb alone
Until I looked
I never found a Well so full and free
That satisfied a thirst so internal in me
Until I reached
Nor tread the ground to witness a Tree
That favors a world like that of Calvary
Until I followed

All of creation be His evidence
And all of creation be emulous

A Glimpse of You

Flood my ground, I have no need for it
Tear down these walls, I have no need for them
Test my faith, Lord, I will not quit
You have given a glimpse, forgive my sin

You have given a glimpse of Your Kingdom
In her eyes, in the skies I glance Your wisdom
What’s beyond the mountainside
and what’s beneath me that I hide
Lord, You know all and all You do
I’m picking up my call, all for You

Let them cast their stones
Let them break my bones
For there is nothing that can be done
to make me forget of Your forsaken Son
While tears may shed because of what’s in my head
I hold You up on high because of what’s in the sky

You have given a glimpse of Your Kingdom
In her eyes, in the skies I glance Your wisdom
I hold You up on high because of what’s in the sky
I shout Your name because of what’s in the rain
It’s the love that will not let me go
It’s Your covenant because of our woe
In the hands of the homeless
In the hearts of the hopeless
In the eyes of the restless
There You are found
A glimpse of You is found

Atlas At Last


Surely God is my help; the Lord is the one who sustains me. Psalm 54:4


I carry the weight of the world on my back by my order.
Little do I know half that is my Demon making things colder.
He only adds weight and looks back with a cold shoulder,
But I see the beauty through the cruelty; I am the beholder.

No one notices those who help,
It’s human nature to focus on oneself.
No one sees the man among the broken pillars
Because the weight to them is unfamiliar.

It’s lonely underneath these galaxies,
But the view when I look up is majesty.
Recognition is impossible when the masses
Are required to look down on the outcast.

I’ve spent millennia and eons below,
Keeping everything up and afloat.
I’m sorry to say that I’ve recently discovered
The reason for global crises is my lack of a brother.

I see the beauty through the cruelty.
I no longer want to battle him, my enemy in this duality.
I desire to be the radiance from a sun flare.
I resign from this post; loneliness is a devil’s snare.

My name is Atlas and at last I am past half-mast.
There’s no more mourning; the sun is warning for the new morning.
The earth will rotate despite how much I hate the weight;
For one last time I’ll hug the equator and smile as I stand greater.

I’ll be secured tightly among the highest supernova,
No longer at the bottom… if only I was alive to see the view.
The universe will be in free fall once I’m over,
But there’s nothing below. I’ve been there for a few.

Explanation for tired minds:

This poem illustrates the Greek Titan Atlas, who supports all of creation on his very shoulders. Atlas is symbolic for modern humanity’s negligence toward God. Atlas is not meant to directly be God, supporting the world–this is why the globe is in crises. The final stanza is metaphorical for Atlas taking his own life to escape his demon: the fate of bearing such great weight while never being recognized for his importance. Atlas now hangs from the stars. The irony is that once he is among the stars, he isn’t alive to witness the beauty, and that the universe can continue without him, although it’s in an eternal free fall and never knowing the gift of feeling supported and being with purpose.

Or, make your own meaning to the words.

The Ballad of Eighty-Eight

Or, A Musician’s Life
Inspired by Nick Fekaris on the piano

Eighty-eight keys, thirty-six on fifty-two
This is the start of the world for you
Eighty-eight years, yesterday had more time
These are the memories consuming your mind

Laying in your mother’s arms,
Far away from the dangerous harms,
Remembering these days like old photographs
Of your father and the countless laughs
His shoulders you sat upon, on top of the globe
A loving family, behind you no matter the angle of slope

Then you graduated on to another age
Step right up, it’s just another stage,
Another step in the right direction with your diploma
Life’s going to hit hard like an ex-lover’s aroma
There’s no way in knowing where you’re bound to go
When all this starts to get heavy, just stitch and sew
Don’t forget your dreams,
Even when life’s breaking at the seams

The years start to pile on like phone bills,
You promised to never lose touch out of goodwill
You’re starting to get the swing of things
Like an out-of-towner picking up new slang
Over a quarter of your life has gone by,
And you’re humming along to the beat of some guy
Who musically envelopes your mind’s throne
Leading you to practice on the bones
Life’s been a struggle, but the music is inside
A gift from above you will never set aside

They started calling you “Piano Man,” but you’re not Billy
Performing in the Southern Cali sun all the way to Philly,
You met someone out on the road,
And together, you built a home
All you need is love, she was the Yoko to your John –
No need to imagine what Earth Heaven’s on
Well, time’s no stranger
Soon life releases its anchors

The days start winding down
The people will never forget your sound
No regrets, you lived a long, happy life
“Goodbye,” say your children and wife
How funny, oh, so funny, it seems
You were once so worried in your teens

Eighty-eight keys, thirty-six on fifty-two
This is the ending, the reaper and you
Eighty-eight years, was each spent living,
Or were you just merely existing?

In Need of Bandages

ISIS Militants

This poem was written after reading about the recent missing girls from the United Kingdom who are suspected to have joined ISIS, the terrorist group, and the propaganda used on social media to recruit youths.


I’m trying to wrap my mind around how creed or color
Can be a reason for the hatred of another,
While off in the East, youths are having to wrap bandages
Around the minds of their brothers, their sisters, the damages

Years had to pass for us to realize
The extent to which our fears were lies
Shadows had to be cast upon coffins
And Martyrs had to leave behind Orphans
For a wounded, sickened society
To try for some social sobriety

I’m trying to understand how we share
The same concepts of love, friendship, and care
But day by day, the masses march right into the Devil’s Snare:
A trap where our innocence trips and labels create a scare

It’s a battle with the West and the East,
A protest against the Most by the Least
It’s the propagandized recruitment of young soldiers,
The difference of a Cross or a Crescent in the holster
It’s the sickly citizen at home
Hiding something not shown

All these wars in Earth’s backyard
Are to leave the children forever scarred
The bandages can only be replaced
So many times before we go to waste

White, black, blue, or red
Nothing matters if we’re all dead

Islam, or just the Psalms,
Christianity, or just Humanity
It doesn’t matter in what you believe,
You will have to make your Mortal Leave
And to pay for a life of terror and drought
In a Place of Demons or a place with nothing about

I’m trying to wait for that holy day
That absolute love is the only way

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Grip of Time

Hands of a clock
Visit our door – knock

Analog, digital, sun-dial
Asking if they could stay a while

They make refuge on our wrists
In our waking thoughts they persist
To consume our daily routine
Faster than feet for “Come On Eileen”

Time is all there is, yet it’s fleeting
With each Tick and Tock forever repeating
Time is all around – in every shade
And beam of light – for every man and maid
Time is inescapable and all-consuming
Whether the sun sets or is looming

Increments of counting, mounting high
Accounting for our drowning in worries so wry
There are only two choices
Each with inclining voices
First, with its minute hand tracking business
Speaks of passing with years but a grimace
Second, talks of no hiatus from worry
But its hour hand in more of a hurry