Three Short Words

A dozen budding red roses sit

In a transparent glass vase,

Comfortably on a fireplace mantle.

His deep blue eyes catch hers,

And his knees turn weak,

And she draws in a heavy breath,

Quiet and rigid.

He whispers three short words,

His lips like a quivering bow.

His voice is just loud enough

To be heard.

I love you.

The dozen roses come full bloom

One by one.

She stares at

all she’s ever wanted

and uncovers

Her pearly white teeth

stained with coffee.

She nods in silent agreement,

His shoulders drop

And he throws his head back with laughter.

The dozen red roses will wither in time,

One by one,

Comfortably on a fireplace mantle.

Seen

A place where quiet seems

Overwhelmed by a buzzing radiator,

Two tall boys sit with ease at two blue chairs

That are in an array of what was once a circle of five.

Their gaze is glued on conversations

On a flat, black screen.

A vast blue sky and a bright orange sun hover,

Over the painted stark-white ceiling,

unseen.

This is a place where quiet seems

Overwhelmed by a buzzing radiator.

The Beautiful Ballerina

Fragile hands reach to the music box.
Multiple eyes of bewilderment are drawn to a ballerina.
The tiny, plastic figurine spins slowly
In rhythm with a quick piano interlude.
The little eyes are mesmerized.
Come time, the ballerina is ready,
Ready to be held,
Ready to be discovered,
But the fragile hands won't touch the ballerina,
No, the ballerina is too beautiful to be touched.
Too beautiful to be dancing too long.
Too beautiful to be discovered,
For if discovered, the ballerina might not be beautiful anymore.
They might find her to be just plastic and paint-
Machines and mold.
But for now she is beautiful enough to be gawked at.
Beautiful enough to be shown.
The fragile hands pull away from the music box,
She is too beautiful to be loved.
The ballerina stops her twirls.
Away she goes to darkness.
The little eyes go away, because she is only but a show,
locked in the music box.

Take Me To Eternity

Take me to eternity.

Chill my bones and create me, free.

Take me to eternity.

Carry me above the horizon,

across the rippling sea.

Take me to eternity.

Cross my path with the unknown,

show me the beauty.

Take me to eternity.

Saddle me with wings-

-and fly me higher than man has seen.

Take me to eternity.

Gently hand me a face to rely on,

now and forever.

Take me to eternity.

A Minute of Your Time,

Colossians 3:23

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men.

Sincerely, Me

Last year, I began to write what I thought could be a book of 365 one-page suicide letters from one girl. I can't remember what I named the girl. Anyway, here was my first letter.
I would, of course, create a preface or introduction to set the stage for the book. Her name, i can't think of. Her parents are Paul and Dora. 
You will never know what she looks like.
 Daniel is her crush, Maggie is her best friend. 
This book would start her as a Freshman. 
In the 365 days, we would see her problems grow and grow from her parents grounding her, to her beginning to date a sexually abusive guy and a death in her friend circle. 
The 365th day would be a mystery as to what she ends up doing. 
Because "I know I've said it before but this time..." 
So its a girl who cried suicide. 
What way does that twist you? 
This entry is harmless though, so don't be afraid to read and enjoy or not enjoy, if my writing really sucks. 

Dear Loved Ones,

            Throughout the years, I have much appreciated all of your “support” and your “pushyness.” But Mom, Dad, you pushed me a little too far. First semester is really hard. You don’t understand what its like to be a teenager, hence, look what you did. Yes I said what you did! You didn’t believe me. You never EVER believe me. Like that one time that Garrett (yes he was 18, by the way) took me out and we stayed a little past 11, even though I told you where I was going, I was still grounded for 6 weeks. Yes, 6 weeks. I counted. It WASN’T 2… like you said, dad.  In fact, I am DISGRACED to even say dad anymore. So I’m sorry Paul and Dora, but this is what it comes down to. It feels weird writing to you all in past tense, because, well, I don’t know. It just is. This is my only way out. It feels like it.

            Maggie, we’ve known each other since diapers. I love you much, but you also had a part in this. Youre so much “better” than I am. Skinnier, prettier, you always get the guys… maybe that’s what I disliked about you all the time. Guess you also didn’t know that this was what it would come down to. Whatever, if I don’t have a will, this will be it. You get my stuff. I honestly don’t care what you do with it. Not like indie clothes are your “style” anyway. And my basketball jersey's? Yeah, just throw them away. I really don’t give a damn about them. Or about my coach.  

          Goodbye high school. Goodbye sweet 16…. Goodbye to my first love which I never met. No, Anthony doesn’t count.  We dated for like, 2 months… I didn’t love him, I thought I loved him. But he never even kissed me. So it definitely wasn’t love. And Maggie? Tell everyone what I thought of them if they ask. Everything I thought. Yes, even tell Gabi she’s a slut.

            And God. What is this. Why the hell does life have to be so hard? I have been trying to pray to you and you never EVER hear me. Maybe you’re wearing ear plugs or something. This isn’t about the iPhone I prayed for, or the boys I’ve asked you to work your magic on, or the flab in my thighs when I run, but let me just say, anything. I didn’t get any of it. So how the hell do I know you're even real?

            Daniel. I secretly am crushing on you, was, until you found out from Gabi. She only said that I obsess about you because she likes you too. It’s not fair. We could’ve had it all, Daniel. We both like sports, we both like nail polish (haha remember that?) and man oh man, neither of us drink.

            HEAR THAT PAUL AND DORA. I DON’T DRINK. I NEVER HAVE AND NEVER WILL SO PLEASE STOP TORTURING ME ABOUT IT. MAYBE I WOULD IF YOU WOULDN’T BE ASSHOLES ALL THE TIME. 

Drink away my pain with a bottle of scotch. I know I seem happy, but I’m not. This is it. This was the last of what I had to say. I might miss you all, but I’m so bitter that maybe I wont. I hope you burn. Almost all of you. No, really, I love you all. No wait, I don’t. I don’t even know how I feel right now. It’s a mix of emotions… Goodnight… Forever…

Bracing the Sun

I am unaware when I wrote this, but upon finding it, I found new meaning. Enjoy!

Quiet eyes see what quietly creepsin the midday.

Thebreaking of a yellow sun has turned grey,

Anda God is breaking forward as the night passes by.

Awhispering coolness chills my bones

Andthe yellow sun fades in and out of color.

Likea ticking noise, it switches

Backand forth

Yellowand grey

Yellowand

Grey.

Powerfuland mighty,

The God bursts through thequivering sun,

Quietand slowly speaking through its ready ears.

Asthe ever-changing sun goes down,

Anew horizon is beginning to flicker in the distance.

Howfar the distance, is not been told,

Butthe sun has gone.

Anda new has come.

-Sincerely, Me

G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

G.K. Chesterton; Orthodoxy
For my Philosophy & Theology class, we were to read the chapter "Prophet of Mirth" by Philip Yancey and find a quote to write a response to.

Phillip Yancey creates so many highlight-worthy points in G.K. Chesterton: Prophet of Mirth. A difficult task to pick one, I chose from page xvii.

“Evil’s greatest triumph may be its success in portraying religion as an enemy of pleasure, when, in fact, all the things we enjoy are the inventions of a Creator who lavished them on the world.”

To understand this quote, it had been necessary to read what was written prior to it. He expands on the idea that pleasure is created by God. Christians often seem to forget a reputing argument against atheists who ask “Well what about all the bad things in this world?”

So tell me, what about all the good things in this world?

I grew up as a Lutheran. A similarity between Lutheranism and non-denominational-ism is the idea that pleasure will turn bad. For example, never had I once stopped to think enjoying money is a good thing. It is still cemented in my brain that it will be an AWFUL and despised thing in God’s eyes if I enjoy it.

What Yancey has to say is Chesterton gives an insight on the fact that  God didn’t HAVE to us pleasures. But he did. To make up for the hurt? I’m not sure. Either way, I am unsure of a world without it, and just hurt. Perhaps he gave us pleasure through hopes that we will notice God as a good God. A loving father, who grants us with gifts, and who trusts us to not abuse them.

-Alexis