A poem for all those seekers.

(entrance to the shrine of Baha'u'llah)

LETTER TO MY HEART

Dear Middle Distance Runner,

Middle distance runner you leave me searching

With collapsed organ pipes I gasp for a breath of fresh prayer

You have sweat dry every last tear we had collected

I am tired of the way you keep looking for God in finish lines

Yes I speak actions like empty waterfalls and all you ever do is run

My words ride high on a dead horse and we search for God in anything

Between us we’ve got nothing but empty tears and a dried out waterfall

Words alone can never bare fruit and this garden is a desert sand box

But I am ready to give them meaning, my words and my God, lay before me

I am open chested taking baby steps like deeds in hopes to marry them within you

I am not prepared for this, not by your heart ache or my rambling

So listen you rib caged thunder drum, you rumored want-a-be middle distance runner

You are needed for this, pound truth into these fingers

You pulsing even stepped runner there are no finish lines

I’ve sold your shoes we have no use for them, sit down and let me walk

There is a guiding rhythm in your heart beat footsteps, guide me home

I have carved from you a sanctuary; God sleeps within you and awakens me

There is a spirit that I must love and it is hidden within you

We searched it out, together we searched it out from you

With groping fingers we chased God like a finish line

And it’s left me verbless searching for the eternal noun, that illusive love

Pulse runner this is you calling, so let us pray

I do not mean for us to lift my words from before me and fire them singing towards our God

Let us carry them, let us walk my words and give them meaning

In the silence I will whisper them to you, you bleeding gentle giant “Let me love you”

I will beg them into the space behind your rib cage “Let me love you”

I will cry them to the spirit behind your eyes “Let me love you”

I will kiss them onto the air and breathe them deep into your blood stream “Let me love you”

“Dear God within my hear, have mercy, and let me love you”

To Swim With Scar Burnt Fingertips

With burnt and blistered fingers i passed the torch to you like an Olympian

Like you were the last and fastest runners of all

This poison dipped flaming stick of a torch was a legacy that, through you, would become a legend

Years passed since the blisters on my fingers have dried and you keep running

While the poison strips the sparkle from you eyes you run

I never saw someone run so fast while removing and reapplying neon toenail polish

Stamping painful request for forgiveness into occasional prayer slots is no way to live, I know

I've run torches through living rooms, I've burned houses and homes in their wake

I've cut life lines with blistered fingers and stamped hundreds of tattered infrequent envelopes filled with forgiveness prayers

But the torch has been passed and looking around, everyone has scar burnt fingertips

There aren't a whole lot of options are there, but there is always hope

So if i can my friend, i want to pass on a few more things to you

First is a prayer book cut into little strips of gauze that you can bandage your blistered fingers with every morning and evening

I'll show you how to call 95 lifelines a day even if you still have to hang up every once in a while

I'll ink spirals into you elbows and kneecaps, so when you fall and skin them you wont forget where your going, and you'll never get discouraged by how long it's taking

I'll pray detachment into heart shaped slippers that are terrible for running

But instead are more suited for the sandy shores of devotions where we walk the thin line

Where the Ocean of God's Law meets the desert we trudge through to get there

I don't care how long or hard you trudge in those sands, the hardest step you will ever take is when you lead to leave that shore behind and swim

For that my friend I can't prepare you, I've never swam there

But I've found that I can stitch obligatory gifts into a life raft just big enough to keep my head above water

Wait! wait, wait...

I've gotten ahead of myself, this all begins with something you must do alone

Only you can find the pain in your life th cry the poison from your eyes, and then, alone, with new vision, you have to choose

To stop running, to let your blistered fingers dry, and put out that torch, once and for all

When you do I want you to call me, I'll come over with these things to pass on

I'll climb to my knees, take your feet in my hands, and wash away the dust from all that running

So call me when you cry, the choice is yours, and until them, so is this poem