The Carver

A carver took his thoughts
And all of his experiences
And laid them carefully on his table
He picked one, one he liked,
And he began to go to work
Chip, chip, chip
He took away the excess
Shaping it into what it was meant to be
Letting his thoughts
And all of his experiences
Guide the movement of his hands
When it was finished, he looked it over,
The finest work he’d ever done
It came out in two pieces
In his heart belonged the one
The other moved at his demand
And he knew they were his only masterpieces
The dagger in his heart
The other in his hand.


I have watched several people
Watch the years slip through their hands
And all the days I’m hardly counting
Are grains of the same sand
So, I can say I know the future
And it’s even somewhat true
Because I’ve watched the sands of time
And I’ve seen nothing new.

Mental Meanderings

I am running away again;
Every question is an answer
To the problems in my head.
There’s too much in the world today
That doesn’t seem quite right,
And I must face (or else fly from)
The fact I’m not a light.
I keep looking at paths forward
And I see too many lies;
The trouble with an honest liar
Is it always comes as a surprise
When the people who should be telling truths
Are telling you what face goes best with ties,
And like something that could be boxed,
They go ahead and advertise
The person that you ought to be
To fit into the largest mold.
But I’m afraid a world like that
For me, is just too cold;
Something in me rails against
The lies we’re asked to tell.
I tell the ones I need to;
But there’s none I mean to sell.


Why do we stare into the dark
When we’ve a lighted hearth behind us?

And shout our souls out to an echo
While our loved ones sit in silence?

And why does our glow of city lights
Block out all of heaven’s stars?

And why is it every unity
Divides into yours and ours?

Comedy or Tragedy?

I can’t tell if it’s comedy or tragedy,
That someone might believe there’s something to see in me,
Or that at such a hint I have to think
“What do they think that they can get from me?”
I could say my faith was at some point shattered —
But I never kept it where it might fall;
I could say my soul is long since broken —
But it’s hidden away, never touched at all.
So I can’t tell if it’s comedy or tragedy,
But there’s something to this thing
That’s either just a touch ridiculous
Or sadder than most anything.

Their Angel

Bless me with the eyes to see
The pain, the sorrow, everything;
Grant me the strength I need to bear
Them up from down upon their knees.
Let me be the one who’s there,
Let me be that which I need to be;
I’ve sought an angel that I never got —
Please, let theirs be me