To God

In this world of news, I've found nothing new
I've found nothing pure
Maybe I'm just idealistic to assume that truth
Could be fact and form
That love could be a verb
Maybe I'm just a little misinformed

As the dead moon rises, and the freeways sigh
Let the trains watch over the tides and the mist
Spinning circles in our skies tonight
Let the trucks roll in from Los Angeles
Maybe our stars are unanimously tired

Let your love be strong, and I don't care what goes down
Let your love be strong enough to weather through the thunder cloud
Fury and thunder clap like stealing the fire from your eyes
All of my world hanging on your love

Let the wars begin, let my strength wear thin
Let my fingers crack, let my world fall apart
Train the monkeys on my back to fight
Let it start tonight
When my world explodes, when my stars touch the ground
Falling down like broken satellites

All of my world resting on your love

--Switchfoot

There has been something missing in me for a long time, something that I've always had and never thought twice about, something that slipped away from me. The problem is that I'm trying to realize how it slipped away. My passion has never left me before--ever. I think it began slipping last semester, through the summer, until now. I think it was an accumulation of a lot of things, but mostly I think had to with my mind turning in a more practical direction. I have especially changed in that aspect. My mind was always set in the gray area--I was a complete optimist, and I always thought if there was a will, there was a way. Now, life is either black or white with me and my go-with-the-flow, free-spirited mien has turned into a scheduled, concentrated mindset and disposition. I study a lot, I stick my schedule, I do the same thing every day, I go to sleep at the same time every night, wake up at the same time, and I learn about (some) things that I don't even care about... and I do it well.

I think somewhere in that turn of events, my dreaming spirit slowly departed from me and took my firey passion with it.

But.

Recently, I've felt a spark... I'm growing tired of this semester, I'm growing tired of being passive, I'm growing tired of not writing (music, poetry, thoughts). My dreams are suffering, my relationships are suffering, my faith is suffering, my heart is suffering. One day I woke up and I went to hear the word of God and every question that I had at that time was answered.

It's also the taste of this frigid air and the sight of a blanketed sky of lights.

There's a struggle with myself.

But I like that I can see the dreamer in me re-emerging.

This was on someone's status

The air found sanctuary outside of the doors as they closed behind me, but I couldn't say the same for the blood that my heart drained from my face. My eyes sifted through every room as I inched through the corridor, yet, not a one shared the same concerns that I did. Not a one looked back. Not a one even had the chance for their eyes to sift. Yes, a pin could drop and I could hear it... but could they? There I was, walking through a dismal garden and of course my superstitions plagued me with interrogation focused on the question, "Had this garden already been harvested?" Were their souls still attatched, hanging, toe to toe, finger tip to finger tip? I couldn't tell. Finally, I reached my destination, which to my disheartenment, may be someone else's final destination. My eyes were glued to his core, it rose and fell with light respiration, but the rest was comatose. He muttered grunts, his eyes darted, but nothing came of it. Was all lost with this man? This man that had seen so much, that had fought through life, that had loved, that had anger, that had a family? Why did it amount to this? Was this part of the garden harvested...or was it even ready to uprooted from where it stayed?

I left the hospital, his image glued in my mind. God have mercy.