The Knife

I've had these nights before, I've been redeemed

In the eyes of a girl who smelled just as sweet

And if you could tell me, tell me the secret to make a man strong

I'd forgive the debt and like a soldier from war, find my way home

And I've been betrayed by a kiss but not like you

In the image of love i gave into truth

And if you could tell me, tell me the secret to not fall like this

I'd hold my head high and i'd find the strength to lead her again

Fear in my chest, grace on my lips

I'll find the strength to lead her again

I've had these night before, but i was redeemed

I've felt the lights that burn when they've gone

And i've sung my secrets to these rooms before

If you could tell me that just one was changed I'd move on

And sing something new about how it's all old and nothing is wrong

Heartache and love are but the width of a blade

Both stab and scar to remind you of pain

I'd like to tell you, tell you the secret to finding the one

But i'm just as lost as the man with his eyes fixed on he sun

I felt the knife break my skin

dressed up the wound, and started again

I've had these night before, and i was redeemed

I've had these nights before, but i've been redeemed

*let it be known that Lauren Stapely directly contributed by letting me steal one of her poetically genius lines for this song*

Honesty... Part V

I've missed this thread. It's predecessors (I-IV) aren't on here so don't bother looking for 'em. Honesty... i forgot what you tasted like. So bitter, but that dull sting is so therapeutic. Addictive almost. Like the scratchy sting of a tattoo, just as permanent and twice as much of a rush.

Honesty.... Honestly...? I'm just as clueless as i was when i started this thread a year ago. And ten times more frustrated. I know i'm not old but i feel like i'm behind the curve. Not as far ahead as i should be... but is that the case or am i just buying into the crap? There's a poem by one Sam Shoemaker called "I Stand at the Door". In it, he describes this door that separates two worlds. The dark hopeless searching outside. Blind groping hands looking for the door with "the latch that only opens to a man's own touch." And inside the knowledge of God, massive and terrifying. Where some  "Go into the deepest of hidden casements, of withdrawal, of silence, of sainthood." But he explains, "I stand by the door." Neither going in too far for fear i'll forget those blind groping hands - those men who, on cold streets, die for want of what's within their grasp. Nor going out too far for fear that i may forget the warmth and security and glory that lies behind it.

I've always felt like my place is by the door - like i've been called to stand there - and it's driving me crazy little by little.

You see i know where my name is written. I know where my devotion lies. But what the poem doesn't mention is the voices. On both sides. It's not just our poetically genius creator that speaks but those in the dark have their opinions as well as those saints. Both are very loud, and both make a good case, but more importantly both cloud the voice i'm dying for. 

Honesty... Honestly...? I know what i'm called to. I know what i'm meant for. More than a conquerer, bread with a spirit of terrifying power, but i'm just honestly not strong enough to fight the aching in my joints to be either here or there. Feeling like a stranger in this land, but lacking the support to back it up sometimes.

Honestly... i want rest... 

Crap. Even just now, as i typed those last three words, it kicked me in the teeth. The only time i have rest is when i'm where i'm meant to be. In the middle of chaos holding onto a peace and fighting to share it. It's when i try to break away from it, to a traditional rest, that i lose peace. I guess we're only meant to operate successfully where we were made to be... no matter how chaotic that place is.

Honestly... i'm kinda speechless now.

Maybe standing by the door is close enough to hear that voice after all.

When the Air Gets Colder...

I love it. I love this time of year and the anticipation of long coats and scarfs. And so i'm sitting here thinking of where i was last year at this point... not the best of places. And then thinking of where i am am this year... hmm. It seems like there's a cycle that creeps up on me each year. October always sets the scene, November's always got me singing December's love song, and January always brings some beautiful twist to kick me in the teeth. And the eyes... there's always some gorgeous set of eyes on my mind that have way too much say in how my days go. Never the same pair, but there's always some perfect, unattainable, over-idealized set of eyes... It's the eyes that get me. 

I hate that last part.

I hate that it's a part of, what it seems, is my cycle. But still i'm waiting to see if this year comes through for me like every other. Waiting to see if January comes again, and when it does will it bring a new pair to make me think they're the first pair? Will they trip me up just like the last? Will i even stand a chance against them? I never seem to. Then again i never try to. I do fall in love pretty easily... something i should work on, and something that's being worked on for me.

So here we go. Line 'em up and let's see what they have to say. Let's see how many albums can be inspired by the next one. I could use some inspiration and if i've made it out alive the past few times i'll make it out next time. 

Wait... what's this? Here we go again.