Brother

Brother,
brother,
in a room that was never in my home,
in a year which I remained unborn,
you made the decisions
which would allow us to roam,
together in adventures,
in a future not as distant.

Brother,
you brought me in
to your heart’s innermost rooms,
you sought me in
my hearts drowning cries.

Brother,
What’s that mean?
Yes, the word, just a word.

How come here, in this sphere
the meaning can be more real?
When the only blood we share, is that of our Lord?
Our family is stronger,
more unified when it’s from him.

Brother,
take a look at the change
you’ve seen.
My old life, my regretted choices,
a waiting bucket of kerosene.
But you had faith,
because of the promise you had already gleaned.
You knew the truth, that I had misidentified my identity.

I now no longer strive for those
that live to take,
and live to die;
for pleasures that bite like snakes,
and spin illusions to live inside.

Now I’m free to give it all,
to live beside those,
that will catch me if I stumble
and if I fall.

Brother in life,
forever beside.
No stronger bond
my brother in Christ.

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Seed of Trust

Many ask.

Who is Christ? The blessed one that will come thrice, his disciples respond.

Who is Emmanuel? The one that comforts and communicates with those that are sure they’re abandoned, says the now not alone.

Who is Jesus? He is the way and the map, and the bridge to our forgotten home, say those that now lay down the burden of saving their name, their life, and their entire own kind.

Who are you Christ?

I am your teacher, I am your path, I am the answer to “what’s the point?”.

Who are you Emmanuel?

I am the voice that whispers in your heart, I am the tugging of your soul. I am the feeling of lightness, of kindness, of togetherness in separation.

Who are you Jesus?

I am your friend, I am your father, I am the sacrifice of love that gave you back and joined you to the king, endowed you and surrounded you with the mystery of glorious pneuma.

You are Christ. You are Salvation, a freedom beautiful beyond comprehension in the death of myself, you are the end of humanity’s endless search, the rest at the dusk of a forever day.

You are Emmanuel. You are with us, uniting and soothing division and derision. You are the peacekeeper, the host of the gathering of all at your side. You are the sweet air cooling our lungs, as the day breaks through the glistening dew on the lily’s pearl petals.

You are Jesus. The savior of man. The last step in the master plan. You are the one that lifted my veil, that scraped off of my eyes those sickening scales. You are the one that convinced me finally of my value; the one that awoke a realization, that my speck of the cosmos did have a purpose. The one that said, I love you, you truly deserve it. The first one to speak, that I undoubtedly believed.

Many no longer ask, because instead they now see.

The Last Tattoo

    Grandpa lay in the bed, and said: “I think I would like a tattoo. I never got one before and I think now might be a good time.”

     His son sighed.  “Dad, your skin can’t handle it. It’ll bleed a lot. I’m sorry.”

     “Oh,” Jack said, slapping his gums together like in a movie, “well, isn’t that a shame. “

     At that moment, grandpa looked from his son to his grandson. He smiled at Jamie, and Jamie ran out of the room with his little flashing sneakers.

     Everyone sat there, on their phones, or swirling the couch fabric with their fingers, or looking at Grandpa with a pity so overwhelming it felt like they’d be sick; a sickness of being unable to help.

     Jamie had been the only one to be with Grandpa. To look into him.

     But Jamie was gone now, and with him, any comfort that Grandpa was grateful for.

     Now phosphorescence lit faces instead of smiles.

   Now touches were given to dusty books or pictures instead of needful hands.

     Words that screamed to be spoken were silenced by fear and embarrassment and uncertainty.

     Palpable tension strained the air as if it were an overtightened string on a guitar. It held like that for a few agonizing minutes until the instant Jamie slammed back through the door. A collective sigh rushed through the room and everyone stopped distracting themsleves with distancing themselves.

     Jamie held one thing in each of his hands.

     In his right hand was a wet wash cloth.

     In his left hand was what looked to be a small picture on a piece of paper.

     “I’m glad you came back, Jamie.” Grandpa’s crow’s feet crinkled near his eyes and pulled his cheeks up into a smile.

     Jamie placed the small picture facedown on the back of Grandpa’s hands and then set the cool cloth down on top of it. Then Jamie began counting.

     After thirty-two seconds, Jamie lifted the wash cloth away and peeled back the wet paper that clung to grandpa’s hand.

     “I was always going to come back, Grandpa. I’ll be here.”

     Grandpa lifted his hand and looked at the back of it. Tattood there, just permanently enough, was Superman. With his cape whipping behind him, fist outstretched as if it was guiding the rest of his body, and the grand crimson S saying that help was on the way, Superman flew across Grandpa’s weathered and unconquered hand.

      Grandpa admired it silently.

     “Thank you, Jamie. I think I’ll go now.”

      Jamie’s face quivered. He waved, as if Grandpa was just getting on a bus to go to town.

     Grandpa waved back. Then Grandpa closed his eyes.