Live

I’ve spent most of my life

trying to sketch perfectly my favorite climbing  tree

many pencils have seen their end in this process

I’ve failed

many

many

 times

the branches are never strong enough

and the leaves just don’t smell right on paper.. .     .       .         .. . 

            For the last four years

I’ve bled on paper

trying to recreate a summer that

happened over 800 days ago in some form of art.

but

The laughter just doesn't sound right

and I can never put the way the sun touched my soul down on paper.

Trust me

tears have been shed.

            There was this horse

who left me too soon

he was white and he glided when he ran

I didn’t have enough time to get to know him

Sometimes I called him Captain

occasionally his name was Winter

I had hoped he would have become a Galileo

  my heart is still pierced

and no poetry has come from that ache.

            And because I’m a writer,

I wonder why some stories are impossible to put on paper.   

            Maybe we’re not always supposed to capture memories in picture form.

            Maybe we’re not supposed to document every heart ache

            Maybe some moments we eventually forget.

            Maybe there are some things so enchanting only our hearts can remember

N.D. Wilson said, “Humans are not intended for data storage (though we have the capacity). We are intended for living, for moving through a story”

            A few summers ago

I was so busy living I barely had time to write.

I don’t remember that whole summer,

but I do have some really stellar stories from it.

            I haven’t ever documented the rhythm of my heart beat

or the volume of my laugh.

            I have never written down

exactly how the Wisconsin river felt in my hair

but my heart understands completely

            I can’t draw a picture of my favorite climbing tree

but sometimes my hands remember the texture

and my ears hear my brothers laugh.

            This Life Is Meant To Be Lived

And I hope I feel the poetry I can’t write.

            This life needs to be spent.