My dreams are [getting] old
My life is stained
I have spilled coffee on my soul
My heart has turned to glass
The loves I once loved
Have left me
But first they emptied me,
A symphony fills me
I became the man you wanted
I forget the child you raised
Let me pile my rags at the door
And wear glory beneath my kaftan
Consider the baby hells
We have lived through
The purgatories we raised
We finally found redemption
And, my God, how it underwhelms!
I have learned new songs
I have learned to wear ashes
Like a king
The peace that fills me is quiet
I have forgiven the promises
That rust away on my lap.
Every year on my birthday, for five years now, I have attempted to wrap the past, the future and the present in a little poem. This year feels a little confessional for me. My heart is heavy, my dreams are crazy. I am thankful. I have amazing friends; and I wouldn’t be here without you all. It sounds cliché, but it’s true. Thank you; you make everything beautiful.
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