Sunday, December 29, 2013

מדוע

Why do we write?
      Because we want to be heard?
      We want to be known, cared for, loved?
Why do we hide?
     Maybe it's so that we don't get hurt.
     Or that we don't hurt others. 
Why do we hope?
     Because without it, we can't change?
     Or because it's the only thing we have left?
Why do we despair?
     Probably because we think there is better that could be had, yet out of reach.
     And that there could be something more, but we don't think we can get it. 
Why do we love?
     Because without it, we're empty shells?
     Or that it's the only thing that can fill us up?
Why do we ask questions?
     Because we long for rest and truth.
     For without Truth, we are but ghosts, hopeless and forever lost.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

For Every Beautiful Wallflower

Feeling like no one understands. That the whole world is spinning around you, but somehow it's leaving you behind. That it just keeps on racing and you sit and watch as your future runs away.

That is part of what it means to be human, for each of us feel that.
For each of us to feel alone.

We see the pain and the sorrow and we ask if love is worth it.
We live in the regret and the anguish and we wonder if we can really make it.

How can something so broken ever be made whole?
How could I ever be anything for you?

We hope we can rise, for we fall, but we seem to fall farther then we rise.
And slowly we feel that we were never alive in the first place, that we never breathed the mountain air.

Our glasses tint red and soon we lose sight of the love that was the point in the beginning.
And so we either let go and stop, or we fall and fall and fall again.

Pain seems all that love can produce when we wear those shaded eyes.
When we walk blind to love, life's purpose soon passes away.

Yet we strive to think of it. That blissful ideal.
That we could be happy, that we could learn to live.

Though we want to thrive in this life, we are barely surviving.
How can we hold others up if we can't stand ourselves?

How can we love when all we can give is shards?
And what is love then, if it is only to instigate pain?

                   ~~~

Because we forget.
We were created to be beautiful.

We were fashioned in the likeness of perfection.
And that original ideal has never left the Potter's mind.

For love, it was never the thought to leave brokenness to itself.
Because without the gaps, love has no place to fill.

We're broken to love and be loved.
And in that moment, when light and love meet us...

We are alive