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Throwback Thursday: Home


There are days
Days when the hours seem too long
Days when my heart sings no song
Days when I am certain, convinced
That this is not my home

Moments when I know I don't belong
I catch a glimspe of a different song
New, yet familiar like a storm long gone
I see the wreckage left behind, 
Reminding me of its reality
Yet I have never quite felt its winds
Tasted of its rains, or sat on its clouds

I still yearn for this storm, my soul calls home
For deep down I know, this rock is not where I belong
I look around and see pain and strife
Yes, I know there are joys in life
Though I revel in them daily
There remains this silent plea
From deep within me 

For more

And as I search, and search, I am fully aware 
My hunt is in vain
The answer I seek already lies in me
This vague memory of this place I seem to already know
Like a photo I once saw so very long ago
Blurry, as if in a dream, this land so serene
Unlike anything I've ever seen
Beyond anything this mind, and these eyes could never comprehend

And so again I contend that this is not my home
Here alone on this mound I call home
I know that what I live is but a lie
Partial reality, illusions meant to assuage my heart
Silence its plea for more

More beyond these shores
Continual hope and joy
Peace and love everlasting, far reaching, and never ending
Beauty incarnate
Love with out the heart break
Hope with out the earthquake
Peace without the strife
Compassion without the war

More than what is beyond my front door
More than what is beyond foreign shores
More than the dreams that haunt these corridors
More than the failure AND the glories of those who've come before
More than just fine, more than ok, more than getting by 

Survival is no longer an option
For in my heart I know that my place is not
Not in the mediocrity of this land content in its disparity
Not in equations, less than, more than, plus or minus, solutions or inequalities
Not in the wants and needs, desires of those with more than they have a vision for
Not in the rivers of self pity forged over the years by tears of the weary, dead beat, woe is me industry
Not in this city, this nation or land
Not in any tribe, family or clan
Not in any universe known or to come

No this is not where I belong
This is not my home
And so I hold on to this dream, like a wish
As if I had caught the last star to ever shoot across the sky
Because somewhere deep down inside me lies a heart
Bursting with a cry for a home that is yet to come
But will one day appear just as the rising sun
In glory and wonder with the power to scorch away the memories
Leaving this life as nothing more than a vague memory, a dream
And the reality to come as the only one



Throwback Thursday: Again #WalterScott

With the launching of a new blog, I thought it would be cool to repost some old writings here sometimes. In light of the tragedy in Charleston I have found myself in a very familiar place. It reminded me of this piece I wrote not to long ago after the death of Walter Scott. The feelings, thoughts, and prayers remain the same.



It's been a few hours now. I have been sitting here at my dining room table in silence. Just crying. Thinking. Wondering. What does one say at a moment like this? Because truly I have no clue what is left to say. A friend told me that whatever I say would be beneficial even if it's repetition since we obviously haven't gotten the point.

So here I am.
Repeating myself.
Here we are telling you we matter.
Here I am crying.
Shedding tears for another brother slain.
At times like this it feels like it doesn't even matter if I know his name
The tears are the same.
They are the same tears I cried in the dark as my heart stood at Fruitvale station
They're the same ones I shed while sitting in my basement, for Trayvon Martin
They are same tears I cried in high school for Emmet Till
The same tears I cry when they say simple obedience will keep people from being killed
These are same tears I cry every time I smell the Gunpowder
The ones I cry when I think about my brothers
Then I pause
To thank God they're alive
To thank God my mother chose the cold white north
Is it selfish, or cruel that I let out a sigh of relief
Cause those weren't my schools
Those weren't my streets
And though they very well could have been
They weren't my story
So I wonder
Why wasn't it me
I shed a tear
In my shame and my guilt
That I get to look from the outside
While my people are killed
Those same tears that always lead me back to Black Rage
Cause nothing's changed
We still find ourselves crying out for freedom
History must be black
Cause she keeps having to repeating herself
Again and again
Even then no one hears her
Over the sounds of misinformation and misplaced priorities
So once again
Here I am
Sitting in silence unsurprised
Once again
Anger welling up from inside
Asking God one question
Am I repeating myself
I no longer even pretend
That I expect any better
I sit down to watch a murder
And I don't even shudder
What has happened to my heart
That such atrocity doesn't immediately light a spark
Instead I sit in silence
Slowly letting the truth come to head
To believe in forgiveness
To believe we'll see justice
But then again
Maybe we won't
At least not until He returns