Me and a Wolf

I started this journey one night on my own.
The train car was full so I walked on alone.
The moon that slung low was my only dull guide.
From deep in the darkness, a lonely wolf cried.
Or maybe he didn't feel lonely, but blue?
I just know when I heard it, I felt his howl too.
Perhaps you now wonder if I was afraid.
Who knows what was hid, watching me from the shade?
Yes. For I'm not the wild grand adventurer type.
I don't "get one" with nature; I don't smoke that stange pipe.
And the dim glow of light barely showed me the way,
and the wind brought a chill through my bones as I lay
with my head on a rock as a pillow to sleep,
never knowing how long this wild journey would keep
me out walking, and striving, so awkwardly slow.
All I knew, all I know, was I just had to go.

Building Temples

 I think we live in a state of flux.
 You have to work hard to build the temple
 and then
you have to rest a day
 and let the birds build nests
 and the spiders web the corners with their sticky trickery.  You have to
 or you'll never know what you were doing all of this work for in the first place,
 and your life will become a hollowed out hall
echoing back the haunts of the breezes always rushing through.
I thought I heard the sound of the memory of a dream
of something I wanted to do and someone I wanted to be,
in a time when the wanting didn't sting.
If I built this temple, now what? 
Let them come.
Ok. 
But I hope they don't stink or have smudgey faces; I might not
be able to handle the human stain touching my perfectly detached life.

Diet

How long does it take for this diet to kill me?
Will I die
until you see my bones,
this flesh like a hanger? I am barely hanging on
to all of my pre-body dreams, from before I had lived
long enough to develop abs
and a defined jaw line.  I have a defined jaw line
and it tells me all I never had the courage to say out loud.
I'm hungry, for instance;
You could see that by looking.
You could hear my ribs squeaking when the wind
blew through them on the way to cooling down my hot blooded heart. 

When the birds were sleeping

I thought I heard you crying when the birds were sleeping last;
 the birds who's mournful songs woke us today and mornings past.
Those flighted creatures, hanging between heaven, perched on beams,
with lightest wings, so frail, have seen a world beyond our dreams.
It sure must break their hearts to touch the perfect, drop back down,
and that, my dear, is why bird song weeps sweetly all around.
Yet we don't perceive it, won't receive it's message. We
are sure that it would break us too.  Instead, we chop down trees.
Instead, we say, "that's lovely, what a cheery little guy!
I wish that I could be a bird!  I wish that I could fly!"
But you, my love, with cheeks so wet, cry gentle in your sleep.
 You too have seen a perfect thing you didn't get to keep.
So I will try to catch each tear fast dripping down your face.
I'll hold you through the darkest nights. Together, we can face
the sunrise, and the sunsets, and the daytime in between.
I'll always listen to your songs, and know just what they mean.

Running up and down these stairs and down and up again

I'm running up and down these stairs
and down and up again.
As round the world spins as I round
this corner, round this bend.
Repetition; what's the point, is there a point
to this?
The things we build, the things we lose,
the things we never miss?
I'm trying to build, and lose myself
in pieces; less and more;
It's running up, and running down,
just like I've done before.
Keep doing what you did at first,
don't stop when it get's hard,
The world will be your treadmill,
spin you right down to the stars.

The place you once called Home

I can still see the lines where your furniture stood tall and heavy,
keeping hid these carpet stains. But you
don't live here anymore, and I never met you.  I'm just guessing you
were someone with a closet
full of outfits, one or several to depict your every mood. I don't know you
but here I stand in the place you used to.  On rainy days a hideout,
on sunny days the place from which you wandered, seeking warmth; returning
when darkness cooled the air and you felt tired again.
I'm guessing you were someone with
a chair that faced a corner facing
something else.
I don't know you, but here I am, still reaching with a broom,
still knocking down cobwebs you left behind.

There will always be giants

There will always be giants in promised lands,
 they do tend to stay there until
you face them to fight and take back what is yours;
 God help you, if only you will
remember that good milk and honey,
 remember the peace and the rest.
It's God who divinely has brought you to this,
so don't you now doubt what He's blessed.
Step now with confindence into that place
where thrives all of the things you now lack.
And don't be afraid to just love her,
 for she's going to love you right back.