The Wide Sea

Sometimes the world feels so big, and I feel quite small.
There are things to do that I haven’t yet figured out how.
There are places to go that I’m unsure where to look.
There are people to meet that I’m unfamiliar with.
There are mountains to climb, yet I am still unequipped.
There are oceans to cross, yet I haven’t the stamina to swim.
I peer out the window and see the world, tall and ominous.
The people around me move so quickly that I can’t react.
There are days that pass by and I feel all too unaccomplished.
There are nights that worry prevents me from sleeping.
It’s difficult to admit when I feel overwhelmed.
It’s often embarrassing to ask another for help.
I’m no longer a boy, but am I truly a man?
I’m no longer a student, but there’s much more to learn.
The ambient noises are sometimes overbearing.
The constant advice is sometimes taken as criticism.
In this world so large, I’m truly very small.
I am a leaf on the wind, a single drop in the wide sea.
And so I close my eyes to escape the weight.
I close my eyes to dream of a place otherworldly.
I dream of feeling wanted, needed, loved.
It’s a distant and lofty dream, dreamt with regularity.
I close my eyes tightly and I drift off to sleep.
And when I awaken, I know what awaits me in spirit.
When I arise, I know that I’ll be embraced.
For I have been created and I am dearly loved.
I am wanted for a purpose, needed for many things.
In my life I will take countless small steps.
But when added up, I will have walked a great distance.
And so, I close my eyes tonight, ready for sleep.
I will once again think these very thoughts.
Once again I will dream this very dream.
And when I stir in the morning, I will once again rise.
Though small I will stand, and I will take many small steps.
I will go a great distance, until I become weary once more.
There I will lie down to sleep, to dream, and again to rise.

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Dear World,

Dear World,
Thank you.
Thank you for always being there.

Thank you for all the good:
For the wonders of your belly,
For the hidden gems of your crust,
For the dense beauty of your sphere.

Thank you for teaching me:
To overcome obstacles,
To never give up,
To always look for the good in people.

And thank you for the difficult:
For all the life lessons,
For the ugly things that I needed to know,
For the storms that I have weathered.

Dear World,
I’m worried about you.
Truly worried.

I’m concerned about the track you’re on,
About the direction you’re headed in,
About the darkness that’s taking over,
And the light that you seem to have forgotten.

I see the changes in your life,
The shadows that are darkening your heart,
The chasm between then and now,
The innocence has completely gone.

And I’m worried, World.
I’m worried that it’s going to be too late,
That the end will come before you expect it,
And that you won’t have time to repent.

Dear World,
I love you.
Not as a lover, nor even as a brother,
But as a friend.

And as a friend, I’m asking you:
Take a step back from the chaos,
Realize the distance you have fallen,
Make amends with those you have wronged.

Look at the wake you have left:
The lives you’ve led astray,
The snares and pits you’ve set up,
The brokenness you’ve built.

Dear friend, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for not having told you sooner.
I don’t know if you’ll hear me now,
But here I am.

I’d yell it from the rooftops,
Write it on the streets of your globe,
Paint it on the skies above.

Dear World,

All I ask is that you pause,
For just one moment.
All I ask is that you consider,
Your track and the other side’s.
All I ask is that you know,
What it is that you’re choosing.
And all I ask is that you be sure,
Sure of where you want to end up.

I’ll be right here if you need me.
Your friend,
Alexander

La soledad

El mundo tiene una dura critica de la soledad. El mundo dice que quita la alegría, que niega la verdadera felicidad. Dice que la soledad es una cárcel designada para solitarios, un lugar de destierro. Cree que la soledad es una enemiga de la mente, que es un peligro del alma. Es un lugar donde se van a morir los que no tienen familia, ni amor. Es una cautividad sin escape, un pozo sin fondo, un infierno sin fin. El mundo dice que la soledad es una señal de la depresión. Tiene miedo de lo que la soledad le hace pensar, creer, y hacer. Siente que la soledad es alguien a quien hay que temer, prevenir, y eliminar. El mundo intenta someter a la soledad a si misma.

Pero el mundo está equivocado. El mundo no conoce a la soledad como yo la conozco. Ella no nos quita la alegría, ni la felicidad. Al contrario, nos deja la oportunidad de encontrarlas. Nos obliga pensar en lo que nos agrada, en lo que nos llena. No es una cárcel sino un refugio. Tampoco es un destierro. Todo lo contrario, es la única amiga que no nos abandona cuando el mundo nos destierra. Sólo los que tienen la mente débil le temen. Sólo los que poseen el alma hueca le tienen miedo. A los que les falta la familia y amor, la soledad estará allí sin fallar, para que nadie viva ni muera solo. Ella no es una cautividad sino una claridad. No es un pozo sino un reposo. Y no es un infierno sino un paraíso. No hay para qué preocuparse de ella. No hay para qué temerle, ni prevenirla, ni eliminarla. Lo que se debe hacer es esperarla, aceptarla, y disfrutarla. Porque la soledad es la persona más honesta, más reveladora, y más confiable que existe. Así que no le temas. Abrázala.

Se ha ido la tinta

Hubo un día en que tinta latía por mis venas,

            en que fluía de mis dedos como del bolígrafo.

Hubo un día en que me faltó el papel para poder expresarme,

            en que no buscaba la inspiración sino que ella me buscaba a mí.

En ese día mi fuente de ideas era el grandioso mar,

            y me senté al lado del río por donde pasaban sus ideas sin cesar.

En ese día ni aun el bosque me podía satisfacer la necesidad de hojas,

            así que empecé a escribir en sus hojas naturales, nunca faltantes.

Era amigo de todos, y todos eran amigos míos,

            y conversaba con cualquiera persona, cualquiera emoción.

Daba la bienvenida a la alegría, a la tristeza, y a todos entre ellas dos,

            nunca dando a nadie la espalda, porque para todos había un hogar en mi alma.

Pero hoy en las venas no encuentro la tinta sino la sangre,

            y me doy cuenta de que soy sólo un hombre mortal.

Hoy tengo una pila de papel sin ninguna idea para llenarlos,

            orando que llegue la inspiración que en algún momento se fue.

Mi mar de ideas se ha convertido en un desierto inmenso,

            y mi río se ha secado como pobre florecilla en el sol.

Mi bosque generosamente me cubre con sus hojas,

            pero me lamento que no necesite ni una de sus caras.

Me parece que algo profundo ha cambiado y me lo perdí,

            porque ahora, como de la plaga, todos se huyen de mí.

Nadie se me acerca, por alguna razón que no entiendo,

            y me quedo sin ninguna gota de tinta con la que yo pueda escribir…

Generation Lost: A Song

 

We don’t know what we have done

We’re lost, we’re blind, we’re young

I said, we don’t know what we have done

Oh, we’re lost, we’re blind, we’re young

I made a lot of mistakes in my past

But I refuse to live there

I made promises I knew wouldn’t last

But I refuse to dwell there

I built up walls and hid with my mask

But I refuse to stay there

I grew addicted to drinking my flask

But I refuse to go there

We don’t know what we have done

We’re lost, we’re blind, we’re young

I said, we don’t know what we have done

Oh, we’re lost, we’re blind, we’re young

It hurt too much, it cut too deep

But I needed something ‘cause everything was far too steep

I let my angst out, I let myself go

But I let myself down, and now I know…

I’m not the only one that I’ve let down

But I was dragging everyone else to the ground

I was breaking hearts and shooting moons

I was digging graves and labeling tombs

But then you broke me, shattered on the floor

Showed me your mercy, told me there was so much more

You gave your life, crucified that I might live

I take and take, when all you do is give and give

So hear my cry, I lay me down

I’m laying everything beneath your crown

‘Cause without you, my life is none

You’ve taken all my sins… they’re undone

Oh, forgive us for what we have done

We’re lost, we’re blind, we’re young

I pray, forgive us for what we have done

‘Cause we’re lost, we’re blind, we’re young

We’re young, we’re young

Forgive us, we’re young

Forgive us, forgive us

Forgive us, we’re young

I pray, forgive us for what we have done

‘Cause we’re lost, we’re blind, we’re young

I have to say that this was inspired by James Arthur’s twist on Tulisa’s song, Young. It really resonated with me about how lost a lot of my generation is. I’m also reminded of the story of Christ’s crucifixion when he says, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” I know there’s a lot of hurt and pain in the world, but I honestly hope that people will find the peace and the refuge that God offers through Christ Jesus. He suffered the ultimate pain, separation from the Father, that we might not have to. It breaks my heart to think about the number of people that are lost, not knowing what they’re truly missing. So, here’s my spin on a song, unleashing part of what I feel inside.

Not As It Seems

At first glance, all is well;

            pristine, even.

The sky is bluer than ever I remember,

            the clouds taller and softer.

Light pours itself generously,

            and life basks in its glory.

Trees tower, green and full of life,

            connected by lines of linens that float in the breathy wind.

Carefree they flow,

            innocent and white.

If peace were to have a dwelling place,

            it would be here.

But, it’s ironic how picturesque the sight…

            what can I say, but that appearances lie?

At closer look, it’s quite apparent;

            obvious, even.

The sky is only clear by way of the storm,

            the clouds only soft after emptied of their darkness.

And beneath such darkness there is no hope,

            there is no light of day.

Not only is life kept from blooming,

            it’s kept from being lived.

Tall trunks are overwhelming,

            casting shadows on shallow graves.

White sheets are not carefree,

            nor do they represent innocence.

On the contrary, they’re ghosts;

            lingering souls over those that lie below them.

If you look closely, you’ll see the cobwebs;

            they draw death where life was once painted.

But, the cruelest thing of all is not that he took those I loved most…

            it’s that he didn’t take me with them.