Negligence

I have, by any and every standard, neglected my child. If Child Protective Services existed in the blogosphere and was informed of my carelessness, I would be considered an irresponsible and unfit parent. So, I apologize to my readers (if there are any), and I apologize to my baby (this blog).

I should scorn myself for unconsciously (or shamefully purposely) ignoring this blog and "forgetting" to write. What can I say, it's been a rough couple of months.

But, as it is Christmas day, and a new year is about to begin, it appears that it's time for a reflection of the past year. I'm thankful for much, regret very little, and hope for much more in the upcoming more. But importantly, I'm blessed to have the most amazing people in my life. What can I say, God has a lowly daughter in more ways than one.

Goodbye 2011, hello 2012. Here's to hoping this year is even more amazing than the last.

Daily Aztec Article: Does a Coach's Drug Test Hurt School's Integrity?

Well, my friends, I did it. My first article officially published in the Daily Aztec.

Here it is:

A new women’s track and field season underway: check. Head coach Shelia Burrell coming back for a second season: check. New assistant coach’s past drug test: check, well, positive.

Dorian Scott, an Olympic Jamaican shot putter, has been named the new women’s track and field assistant coach at San Diego State. Scott was a member of the Jamaican team for the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, placing 15th in the shot put event. He previously coached at his alma mater, Florida State, before coming to San Diego.

In 2006, however, Scott tested positive for marijuana in a competition at the Central American and Caribbean Games in Cartagena, Colombia. Scott was given a “public warning” for his offense by the track and field governing body, the International Association of Athletics Federation, and as a result, had his gold medal taken away and national record erased.

Now, I am not here to judge Scott’s coaching abilities; on the contrary, his past athletic history suggests he may be the most qualified candidate for the position. Obviously, having a coach who has participated in the Olympic Games could serve as an advantage to the track and field team. Nonetheless, I must question the kind of ethical and moral example a coach can serve to student athletes, if he himself violated drug policies at a competition.

SDSU has a strict alcohol and substance abuse policy for both students and student athletes. According to SDSU’s university policies, a student may be suspended or expelled from the university by violating university drug policies. SDSU athletes are subject to drug testing and must adhere to the university’s three-strike positive drug policy if they wish to continue competing.

Upon Scott’s new position, SDSU could unintentionally be lessening the importance of being drug-free, especially for student athletes. Though his actions would be frowned upon by the university if he were a student, it doesn’t appear to be a problem as an SDSU employee.

Obviously, a positive test for marijuana is not as serious as using other drugs, such as steroids. But Scott is now in a position of higher authority in an environment where athletes who are guilty of using marijuana can be suspended from athletic competitions and from the university.

Scott may, however, be able to use his past personal behavior as an example of how not to act for student athletes. His poor choices may warn students about the negative consequences that come along with abusing drugs, especially those students participating in athletic events. Hopefully, the team will strive to model his athletic abilities rather than try to mimic his personal choices.

Perhaps Scott’s mishaps would be overlooked if he wasn’t the second track and field coach hired in less than three years to have committed an athletic drug violation. In 2009, SDSU hired former U.S. hurdler, Larry Wade, as an assistant coach for the track and field team. In 2004, Wade tested positive for a banned steroid, 19-Norandrosterone, and was served a two-year competition ban. At that time, Wade’s employment was met with criticism, including harsh sentiments from Doug Logan, then CEO of USA Track and Field. He compared Wade’s new position to the university hiring a plagiarist in the English department.

Logan’s statement is as truthful as it is pointed. Would SDSU consider hiring a fraud as an academic professor as it would for an athletic coach? A professor who was a well-known plagiarist to the world would have a difficult time establishing both credibility and integrity inside the classroom. After all, how could a student take a cheating or plagiarism policy seriously after being lectured by a hypocritical professor?

It would be unfair, however, to disregard Scott for the assistant coach position based on his past offense. Though it is a concern not to be taken lightly, all eyes will be on him to ensure a positive working environment. Let’s just hope Scott tests as a new “positive” — a fantastic coach and inspiring role model for the team.

http://www.thedailyaztec.com/2011/09/coaches%E2%80%99-drug-history-hurts-sdsu-integrity-2/

Morning from Hell

Damn my forgetfulness.

Only I would drive 45 minutes to school (because of annoying morning traffic), only to realize I forgot my paper sitting in the printer. Oh, you know, the one I spent all night writing. Because my forgetfulness first began when I neglected to upload my paper into Google Docs, I had to drive back home to receive it, OR, get an incomplete.

So, I ran back to the parking structure, got in my car, started driving only to eventually be stuck in construction traffic, arguably worse than rush hour. Upon driving BACK to school (paper secured safely next to me!), the "Feed Me" gas sign my car likes to flash when its hungry turned on. And of course, because my life sucks, I could not find a parking spot when I arrived to school. I crossed my fingers my car wouldn't stall right then and there as I followed someone to their car to steal a parking spot.

I finally got to class 15 minutes before it ended.

And that, my friends, is the morning from Hell.

Nothing but a Forgotten Dream

I stumbled across something very interesting the other day—well, I had somewhat of a desire to search for it, and so I guess it was more intentional than coincidental. But, that’s just all mindless details.

When I was 18, my arrogance for my own writing abilities far exceeded its true potential. I’m not very confident about how or what I write anymore (and rightly so, though this humble realization came with many painful awakenings), but at the time, I thought my writing could conquer the world. Actually, I was confident it would.

And so, at 18, I attempted to write my first novel. Well, started I should say, or tried to start. The idea came after my grandfather died, a rather remarkable man whose story was never shared, a story I barely knew myself. And so, a seed was planted in my mind, which soon grew to a young idea, and eventually into a sturdy beginning to a novel that I was certain would become a classic. (Arrogant, I know.)

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I found it. I found the first and last chapters to this “award-winning” novel that I began when my life was just beginning. And although I must admit that my writing has improved in many ways since I was a child, (as apparent from the first posts on this blogs, and silly poems such as this one that I wrote as a kid), I must say that I was rather impressed with what I had to say. In fact, I was actually inspired…inspired to finish telling this untold and startling story.

I will admit that no one has yet to read it, and so, my satisfaction and motivation to pursue it, may actually be nothing but blindness and ignorance towards its stupidity. I’d share it with all of you on this blog (since it’s really not that much), or even explain the plot line (though it is rather undeveloped), but with my luck, some aspiring writer out there will find a publisher, expand on my “brilliant” idea, write a book, and show up on the New York Times Bestselling list, leaving me with nothing but this blog.

If you’re really that interested though, maybe I’ll tell you, someday—maybe. Probably not; depends who you are. But, if any publishers out there would like to take a 21 year-old’s 18 year old self’s story idea and make it into a real book, you know where to find me…or find my blog at least. I would definitely love to show it to you, as undeveloped as it may be.

But anyways, why am I telling you all of this? Because somewhere along the road of enlightenment I discovered a broken dream I forgot about long ago. And though that aspiration is now nothing more than a memory, I must say that rediscovering the first steps you made long ago remind you of how you got to where you are. Besides, I like re-reading things I've written, even if it is cringing and unbearable. It shows how much your writing has matured, how much you have grown, and how much life has changed.

And even if I never finish writing that book, or whatever it would've turned out to be, I'm glad it's no longer a forgotten dream, but rather an old dream replaced by different ones.

Fishy Business

I have a friend who occasionally likes to call me a "shark" because of the blunt, yet truthful, comments I tend to make. Well, if I am a shark, then that would explain why I can smell fish around me when they screw up...

And today, I smell something fishy.

So, please allow the blunt shark to give you "sneaky" individuals some sound advice so that your fishy smell can sneak off my radar:

1. Learn how to swim...correctly: If you're going to lie to me, or to anyone else for that matter, at least lie right. When you get caught up in your own net of lies, well, lets just say you're not the fastest fish in the sea.
2. Don't fall for the fish bait: There aren't just sharks in the sea, there are fishermen too. So, beware the traps that people set up for you, because when you're too dumb to realize that you've just been caught, you're pretty much dead meat...or dead seafood. That's how my dad caught these. Well, the fishermen caught them; I think he just watched and attempted to help. (Don't tell him I said that.)
3. "Fish are friends, not food:" Unless, of course, your friends rat you out. Then they might as well be food to all the other sharks out there.
4. SWERVE!: Stuck in a pickle? Or in this case, an oyster....? Own up to it and admit your mistake.

Now, there's a very logical way for all you fish to avoid being eaten alive or served on a platter at Red Lobster instead of following these not so helpful tips: BE TRUTHFUL from the very beginning. There's no reason for fishy business if you tell the truth from the start. I promise, it's not that hard, and a lot less painful for everyone. And why would you want to be a fish when you can be a person? Just saying.

Stop trying to swim a fast one on everyone for such stupid reasons. I mean, hey, if you can avoid being a fish, then there's no reason to release the sharks.

The Sinful Art of Criticism; The Blessed Chance to Critique

Criticism is good for the soul. I have and will always support this theory. How, may I ask, do you ever wish to improve yourself, your situation, or your expenditures without seeking advice or the opinions of others? It takes a prideful fool to condemn the advice and opinions of his peers, and therefore, I urge us all (including myself) to embrace constructive criticism for all the glorious and positive influence it may have.

But often times, people take things a little too far. Sometimes we must beware the sinful art of criticism and remember that giving your opinion is merely a blessed chance to critique. Contradictory? Well, please indulge me a little and allow me to explain.

Some of you may already be associating this post to my previous one on this blog, and though they are somewhat unconnected, I must say that the reactions and events that have occurred within the past few weeks, related and unrelated to Mr. Crook and my cousin, have driven me to discuss the matter at hand. In fact, people's reactions to what Mr. Crook had to say with such crude language disgusted me as much as Mr. Crook himself. I understand that I too could not hold in my frustration towards such an insecure and ignorant man...but I would never bring myself down to his level through childish means. Much has changed in the past month, and the more my eyes are opened and my ears widened to see how people critique and hear the diction they choose, the more I find propriety and common courtesy breached in inappropriate manners when expressing opinions. I, in no way, am wise enough to offer sound advice on how to criticize. However, my conscience does feel obliged to warn the few interested enough to listen.

Criticism, in many ways, is a blessed privilege, a great opportunity, and an inspiring process to agree or disagree with a friend or stranger, both personally or professionally. In my opinion, there are only a few ways to abuse this blessing and transform it into a sinful art: blatantly disregarding human emotions, speaking from ignorance and immaturity, and using foul language as an act of anger and frustration. Diction seems to be my prime concern, as I've grown to loathe people who abuse the English language with distasteful, foul four letter words, and degrade their opinions to nothing more than an emotional, uneducated rant.

Throughout my 21 years of observation, I've sadly found that this applies to my friends, my acquaintances, my critics, and occasionally even myself. And though I never encourage anyone to act or speak merely out of emotion, here is my small angry rant: cursing to make your voice heard is self-destructive. To those of you who cursed Michael Crook, to those of you who curse each other, to those of you who use f***, b****, sh** and other distasteful slang words to express yourself and your opinions, I ask you to reconsider your word choices. Life is not defined by these words, but rather, your opinions and your voice will be defined to a status unworthy of listening to.

Now, I completely understand that discussing such a sensitive topic instantly puts me in the line of fire for people to criticize me--and if grasping the opportunity to form a few minds forces other minds to condemn mine, than so be it. All I ask is that you do so without cussing up a storm, because although I may be able to navigate through troubled waters, you'll only be proving my point.

Michael Crook: Not That Clever

(In response to Mr. Crook's blog post: http://blog.michaelcrook.org/2011/07/joe-meram-not-that-bright.html)

Dear Mr. Crook,

I do not believe in vengeance.

On the contrary, I find it to be a sad outburst of frustration and anger from a weak man's own misery. Therefore, I do not plan to seek revenge upon you through this post. I do not wish to curse you for the foolish and childish things you have said about my cousin. I do not desire to taint my own elegance and poise by lowering myself to fight you on the subject (though I'd probably win).

No. If I were to do so, I would do nothing but destroy my own credibility and further hinder yours. And if you have any type of journalistic integrity, which I secretly pray you do, then you would know that credibility and respect from both your peers and your readers is essential to creating a well-praised and worthy piece of writing. I have no desire to do such a thing. If you wish to destroy yours, however, that is between you and your pen.

So Mr. Crook, as a fellow blogger, I would like to offer you a few pieces of advice to better your own understanding of the ethical and moral boundaries of the blogosphere. Despite my own hurtful feelings towards your specific post about my cousin, I must say that I am a little disappointed in your professional writing and blogging etiquette in order to express your opinions on the matter. In fact, I am a little curious to inquire whether or not you have had any professional education at all? I mean, I am in no position to boast about my own writing--I am nothing but a student apprenticing my way through life, the blogsophere, and the written word. However, your specific diction and lack of sympathy has sparked my curiosity about your upbringing.

So, to help you with your future blog posts and perhaps to boost your future popularity, please allow me to provide you with some tips to help you become a more likable character and a more creative writer.

First, I must say that your carefully chosen word choices show very little understanding of the English language. Your diction is not well-suited to one that has mastered English. No. Sadly, it seems to be a poor attempt to enhance your writing voice with the use of flowery and big words, in order to sound credible. You chose words such as "stupid," awkward," and "punk," to describe your feelings and reaction to this specific situation. And so, here is my first tip: some words naturally have a negative connotation--avoid using them unless you want to annoy, discourage and agitate your reader.

Now, if you purposely chose those words for their negative connotation, I must say that I am a little disappointed that those were the choices you settled upon. I'm sure with proper guidance you can learn to enhance your vocabulary in a mature manner that will best give you the ability to express how you feel. I'll pray that that wisdom will shed upon you somehow.

Which brings me to my next tip: avoid cliches and be creative. Fail to do so and it exposes the weakness in your writing. Good writing, good blog writing is about finding interesting and unorthodox analogies and metaphors that entice your readers. Don't try to feed them something they've already had before. Remember what I said about enhancing your vocabulary? It's a necessity for every writer, including myself. That alone can help you avoid cliches and unoriginal analogies that you so often use.

Now, if you have ever studied psychology (which I doubt you have), people such as yourself, who seek negative outlets to express their own "opinions," usually do so because their deepest insecurities push them to seek attention. Cliche alert: ever heard of the saying, "all press is good press," including the poor, bad and ugly? Well, when someone's absurd behavior is driven by their inner-most insecurities, they tend to lash out in the oddest and most immature fashions. In fact, that's why children often seek attention by being "bad." Mr. Crook, in no way did I call you a child, but I'll just use your words instead: kids don't usually act out too much, "except maybe for good ol' boys, if you catch my drift."

So, here's a tip: if you would like to feed your own insecurities, by all means continue to pursue vain and cynical writing pursuits. If, however, you would like to better yourself, perhaps it's time to discover the reasons as to why you are the way you are, and why you write the things you do...?

As I said, I am not here to attack you in any malicious way. You have every right to voice your opinion, and I support people doing so with every "breath" of my heart. Keep in mind, however, that there may be someone out there with a much stronger and louder voice than you do. And so, with every "breath" of my heart, I do intend to shout a little to make sure that you can hear me through cyberspace, wherever you and your computer seem to hide. Please forgive me, however, if you hear a little ringing in your ears--my voice tends to do that to people sometimes. Trust me when I say, time will help the ringing stop.

But with any blog or any piece of writing, you will never hear just one voice. No, no. Be prepared to hear many. In case you haven't noticed (which I doubt you have considering your poor investigative techniques), my cousin has a new Facebook fan page entitled, "Rest in Peace Joe Meram" with over 2,200 likes in only 48 hours. With all professional journalistic integrity, I discovered that you have a Facebook fan page entitled, "I hate Michael Crook" with 2,200 likes over a period of God knows how long. Huh. Interesting, to say the least. Perhaps we should go back to our psychological discussion about attention-seeking? But alas, I'll resist.

You see, no one really likes a crook--that's why most end up dying alone in jail cells, not to say that you are one, Mr. Crook. But, there's no easy way to say this: crooks just usually are "not that bright" (your words, not mine).

But, unlike you, I would never judge another human being or their intentions. Though you have seemed to harshly judge my cousin by "arrogantly ignoring common sense" (once again: your words, not mine), I will not do the same for you.

In fact, I encourage no one to do that towards you. Though your words stabbed through my very soul, I only wish you the best and choose to ignore your twisted cries for help by giving you wrongful attention. I ask everyone to refrain giving you that attention, because feeding a passion only makes it burn stronger. That is why I write to help you as you drown in your own misery by offering you advice. I can only hope you take it. I do, Mr. Crook, only wish the best for you.

And so, I leave with you this. I would love one day to stumble upon a fan page that says "I love Michael Crook." However, I can't see that happening in the near future unless you can abide by this last tip: re-read before you post. That's where there's editors in this world. Hey, we all make mistakes, that's why there's erasers on pencils--and so, I'll forgive you for your bitter rant towards a perfect stranger. Just remember, even Charles Dickens made Scrooge remorseful for the things he said and did...it just took him the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come to realize that remorse.

Consider me your ghost, Mr. Scrooge, I mean, Mr. Crook. Consider me your Ghost of Blogging Yet to Come.

With much love and many prayers for your improvement in writing,

Joe Meram's Proud Cousin,

Miss Meram

I ask, Mr. Crook, and others reading this post, that you respect the privacy and sorrow that has filled Joe's family and friends. He will always be loved, cherished and remembered as a smiling young man who lived life with passion.

Please pray for Joe, for all those that his death has affected, for Mr. Crook and other harsh critics, and for all souls in Purgatory.

Hail Mary, full of Grace...

Nice Try

Well, my self-control to abide by my promise to swear off writing in this blog could not constrain my temptations. I guess it was a "nice try," a nice pathetic attempt to suffice old feelings of a harsh reality that I created for myself.

I never thought my own doubts, troubles, and fears would cause a commotion in the dark forest I was trying to walk alone in. I never thought my footsteps alone would awaken the creatures in the dark, ready to block my path and force me to retreat and re-read the warning signs.

Embarrassment, stupidity, anger, and resentment are making me re-trace my steps and walk backwards to the fork in the road, to see once and for all, where the truth really lies. And if the forest's loving creatures block my way to keep me from walking into the darkness, perhaps I'll walk out into to the sunlight for them, and over time, "for them" will be for me. God's loving creatures deserve to be admired in all their beauty and glory, glimmering within the sunlight.

And if, for whatever reason, the sun starts to blind me and the dark shades of the forest entice me, I'll still remain in the sun for them, so that they can experience life in all it's greatness. I'll just wear sunglasses.

Take a Deep Breath, Take a Step Back, and Take a Moment to Realize What You've Forgotten

It seems much too long since I've written a new post--not out of laziness, lack of priorities, or pure animosity, but rather from the absence of inspiration and passion to write something beautiful.

I ask you, my dear friends, why must this always happen? Is it something I'm consistently doing wrong that kills my muse and destroys my love of "art?" Is it something I'm unconsciously doing to mask my insecurities in a hopeless and meaningless way? I just don't seem to understand why I continuously find myself in this situation--angry with both God and myself, discouraged from life, and swearing off my pen and its gift.

Sometimes, inspiration to write is hard to find. But I've learned over the years that the more you try to be inspired, the more you start digging a grave to kill your own writing. Nevertheless, I always seem to end up being my very own crypt-keeper; apparently, I never learn from my past mistakes. The revelation that the villain is truly myself, however, comes only after a graphic battle to unmask my true identity and discover who I am. And by the end of this gruesome fight, I realize that my love lays dying on the floor ready to be buried, and my excitement for life is no where to be found for it fled from war.

And so, after four tiresome, yet rewarding days on an "Emmaus-ing" journey, I've come to the realization that I'm not happy with myself--I'm not proud of where I've been, I'm not pleased with where I'm going, and I'm disappointed with the person I've become. Yet, the zeal to better myself, to improve my situations, to strengthen my relationship with both God and my family, seem to be nonexistent. In fact, the more I seem to examine myself, the more I realize there's not much to really examine. Not because the soul isn't something worth examining; on the contrary, it's by far the most intricately beautiful piece of art that God could ever create. But, my soul and my conscience seems to be falling deeper into a black abyss, and sadly, because of the lies I've been told and the truths I've refused to believe, it continues to fall without the will to bring it back up.

So, it really is time to take a deep breath, take a step back, and take a moment to remember what I've already forgotten. Because there's one truth and one reality...the rest is just a lie. And until I can figure out for myself whether we live in a fantasy world or we live within the truth, my heart will continue to skip a beat. And since my pen, this blog, and my writing lives to be the "breath" of my very heart, I guess it's time to discover what's making my heart lose its breath, and therefore, skip a beat.

And so, my friends, I think it's time to take a step back--not just from this blog, but from many things in my life. Perhaps it's time to set out on my own into the woods and see how far I can fight the darkness on my own. Perhaps it's time to live or die, sink or swim, and see how far life can take me without my safety nets always by my side. After all, what's the point of living if you never step out into the dangers of the wilderness to discover the hidden beauties that lie within the darkness?

I'm not quite sure what this all means--I'm not quite sure where I go from here, or if I'm even making sense to anyone, including myself. I'm not confident that I'm making the right decision, at all, but I need to try. I need to do this, for myself and myself alone, without any of the lies drowning out my ability to discover the truth.

So, here's to truth, the real truth. Here's to discovering what it is and where it hides, and why, for some strange reason, I've never been able to taste it. Let's hope the truth guides me to where I need to go, and if I get lost, gives me the courage to come back home. Here's to the "breath" of my heart, or lack thereof....just for now.

Smothered, Smashed, "Smuel-ed"

Beware the beady eyes that follow at night,

Through every dark corner as you slowly tread.

For they will haunt you for eternal length's flight,

And make your mind flee from horror and distress.

Run, I tell you, flee with haste!

When the monster wakes with a forceful gaze

And finds his prey to hunt and chase,

He'll hunger for you and track for days.

'Til innocence is no longer found

And the monster consumes your very soul

Your cries will become the only sound

Of sorrow and death--a story to be told.

Run, I tell you, flee with haste!

I see him rising from deep slumber,
Awakening and quickening his pace,

With a sudden liking and earthly wonder.

Heed my warning: danger ahead!

Be prepared to fight and win,

For his beastly cry will make you dead

And bring your remains to his kin.

Run, I tell you, flee with haste

Though you're safely kept inside your home,

Now his gaze has found my face

And your safety has kept me alone.

Now I must fend for myself

And swiftly run with nowhere to hide.

Hear my painful cries for assistance and help,

As I scurry along with my sobbing cries.

Now I must beware the eyes that haunt me at night,

Through every dark corner as I slowly tread

For they will haunt me for eternal length's flight

And make my mind flee from horror and distress.

My "Bad" Friend

My darling, my love, my dearest friend:

I write these lines 'bout your bitter rant,

Which your God only knows and understands.

Though Conscience tells me to stop and pray,

For enlightened mind; though they're silly words.

While mouths speak once, the heart will say

The passion and tenderness for which you yearn.

And though I too am foolish and cease

To speak of struggles driven by madness,

I bite my tongue so that you may find peace

And speak only words to change your heart of sadness.

I write, though pained, for you asked me to

And so, my heart writes this as I take a poo.

Disclaimer: The last line of this poem was written by my friend, for my friend, strictly as a joke. Please do not doubt my writing capabilities and professionalism because of the silly, though hilarious ending.

The Broken Heart--The Blackened Room

I turn the knob and enter into a room of darkness,
Shaking with the sound of a sobbing soul.
I glance to find red stains glaring up at me,
Only to realize it's a broken heart upon the floor.
I stumble on in, fighting my way through
Towards the hysteric screams of my best friend,
Engrossed in the blackness of a painful enclosure,
She locked herself away for her own bitter end.
Carefully, I tread avoiding the tragic remains
That haunt my every footstep trying to get near,
Yet, the closer I get the more she screams,
My footsteps intensifying her very own fears.
And with each step, my own heart escapes,
Overflowing, completely out of control.
For her heart is mine, and mine is hers.
And her broken heart breaks my very soul.

My Soul's River

And as a river runs its course,
So does the pain inside my soul.
Rushing with ungodly force,
Gushing forward with no control.
Each vein a channel like a stream
Pushing towards a bitter end.
The rocky cliffs are broken dreams,
Shattering against dangerous bends.
But rafting through the troubling stream,
With full force and deep distress,
Comes the peaceful channel, water serene;
Rewarded after the river's test.
For after battling the painful turns,
Comes deep serenity, rightfully earned.

The Lighthouse

Heavy waves of despair crash upon a lone sailor,
As the violent wind roars within his very heart.
And as his sinking ship retreats further away offshore,
His drowning, lonely soul begins to fall apart.
And when darkness comes with the sun's deep slumber,
And the land's soft sand silently disappears,
His hope falls deep within the ocean's dungeon,
Of fallen dreams, broken hearts and relentless tears.
But alas, a glimmering light of love shines upon the sea,
Peacefully providing refuge among the rocky shore.
For the lighthouse is the answer to the sailor's heart-felt plea,
And the shining light allows his broken soul to be restored.

For when life's ocean waves push your soul off track,
God's shining light will help you find your way back.

Your Childish Ways; Your Prideful Disdain

Dear Lord, my Father: I can't comprehend,
The soul that schemes a master facade
Of prideful disdain towards an innocent "friend,"
Ignorantly claimed to be an "act" of God.
Attacked and belittled with false accusations,
My heart aches and tears itself into shreds.
Destroyed by a child's senseless assumptions,
My once pure thoughts are now stained red.
And within this hour of darkness I pray,
As I lie battered, beaten and bruised,
For you to save me from the issue conveyed,
By the selfish wrath of the morally confused.
Yet alas, they insist you stand behind them with pride,
And I fear that's where your alliance truly lies.

The End

The sands of time have shifted as time has now run short.
The blooming rose petals have fallen peacefully upon the floor.
The rhythm of the beating drum has failed to stay in pace.
The lines of stress and worry have ceased upon your face.
The howling wolf's cry no longer comforts the moon.
The whispering wind's last breath has died much too soon.
The comforting morning sunlight refuses to rise.
The beauty of the stars have burnt out within the sky.
And as the world around you continues to fall apart,
You discover the problem lies within your dying heart.

Life

Have you ever really thought about death? Not necessarily the death of others, such as a loved one, but your own loss...the moment where you will one day cease to exist? Have you ever really thought about your own death?

What will you die from? Who will you be at that time? Where were you in your life? Who will be there beside you? But more importantly, what will you regret? What will you look back on and cherish, and what will you look back on with a heavy heart?

These questions have been haunting the crevices of my mind for the past few weeks. I find myself pondering the dark questions surrounding death, uncertain whether they stem from the beginnings of a new year or deeper internal fears just now beginning to surface. When will God take the very breath he gave me and make it be my very last? Who will I leave behind and who would've left before me? Will my loved ones be alright when I'm gone? Will I regret what I've done, who I've been? Or, will I live my life in a way that has prepared me for that very moment where I will leave this world and never come back?

All of this has somehow motivated me to look back and learn from yesterday, cherish today, and hope for a tomorrow.

Perhaps this is just a normal part of growing up. Perhaps this is a normal thought process that comes with maturity, understanding, and a newly discovered passion for life. Perhaps it's a fear for that passion, that rare understanding, and that timely maturity to disappear. Perhaps that fear can lead to motivation.

I have never felt the motivation to live my life right, to live with passion or to live my life to the fullest than I do today. I don't know the origin of this motivation; I'm unsure when this fear began; I'm unaware of the strength of my determination. But, I thank God that I have it.

Live for today. Live for the moment. Take things day by day--and try not look back. And if you can do that and live a life with few regrets...well, death isn't that scary anymore, is it?

Here's to life. Live yours the way it was meant to be lived.