Kevin Walker's Blog

It began with disappointment.
The image in which I had created you wasn't coming true.
The items on the list I had written weren't being marked off.
Over and over in my head I recited my grievances,
making sure that I would remember each detail of every moment that you didn't measure up.
Everyone does this, I told myself, not understanding the depth of the sickness I was allowing to slowly consume me.

Selah.*

My disappointment quickly turned delusional, and I began to scour my brain for proof of your unfaithfulness.You’re looking at me funny, I would say, like there’s something you’re hiding from me.The proof of your sin was written indelibly in my mind as I held I court, convicting you without explanation.Your heart began to die, but I never even noticed.

Selah.
Suddenly, I decided to fight for you; but, by then it was too late.I found your letter on the nightstand.I read it and wept bitterly.

Selah.
*Selah is a biblical term, found in the book of Psalms, that’s meaning is closely akin to “pause and dwell on that for a while.”
This poem © Kevin Walker. Published August 2014.

Today, the breeze became a little warmer,
the winds shifting - no longer bringing the icy air
from the barren landscapes above,
but a warmer air, full of life,
from the tropics below.

This is what hope feels like:

The moment you finally step out of the pain,
and into the realization that things really will be okay,
life really will go on,
and there is a still a place for you in it.

This is a beautiful realization -
a moment so important that it must never be lost.

Keep it.

Hold on to it.

Protect it within the walls of your heart; because,
one day, those winds will shift back
from the North again,
and you'll need something to hold on to.

This poem © Kevin Walker. Published February 2014.

Tumbling.That's the feeling.Like life is flinging you down the hill faster, and more violently,the longer it goes.Sick to your stomach in nauseated dizziness,you half-heartedly pray for it to end.At least until you realize what that means;until you realize that the chaos of this hill is all you have to hold on to.In these alternating patches of grass and bare dirt,lies the only legacy you will ever leave.So tumble on.Let the sickness hit your stomachwith all the force it can gather.And trust that,in all the craziness this hill brings,you are leaving a marksomewhere.
This poem © Kevin Walker. Published February 2014.

I decided to not look.

I kept my eyes frozen on the path ahead of me,
ignoring the temptation to inflict upon my brain
another sad memory of what could never be.

I sighed - deeply,
from the depths of my disease riddled lungs.

I shuffled my feet and began to hum.

Long ago, I refused to buy in to the lie
that true happiness is found in
the things I don't have.

I came to the conclusion that real joy
is found in the journey ahead of me.

So, I just keep walking.

This poem © Kevin Walker. Published February 2014.

This poem is still coming together, but I thought I'd share it today (especially since I haven't posted in quite some time).

1.
Morning - A cold breeze hits her face
while walking to the mailbox.
Nothing inside.

2.
Afternoon - Today's lunch sits
half-eaten on the sofa.
She is balled up beside it, sobbing.

3.
Evening - She doesn't recognize
the person in the mirror.
Gone. Empty. No longer there.

4.
Midnight - She wakes up in the midst
of a scream, in a sweat soaked nightgown,
unable to breathe.

This poem © Kevin Walker. Published February 2014.

Reduced to tears,
She sits in the center of a hallway.
Trying, with all of her strength,
To let go of a dream.
Clinging to the hope of its fulfillment,
Not understanding the reality of its death.

Have you ever had to bury a dream?
Have you experienced the pain of
Knowing the tomorrow you so longed for
Would never come to pass?
Through a small window, she watchesAs a young blue jay delicately balances
On the branch of a tree.
A message, from One completely other,Floods into her soul:
     Do not worry about tomorrow, for I, My child,
     Am already there. Do not grieve the death
     Of your dream as an ending,
     But as an invitation to new life that only death can bring.
Closing her eyes, she wipes away the tears,Inhaling deeply like a baby newly born.
This poem © Kevin Walker. Published September 2013.

Everyone wants the sunshine.
"Oh, what a beautiful day," they say,
as they pass by on the sidewalk
heading to the park
or a baseball game.
"Isn't this the best weather?"
they ask,
unaware that there is -
standing beside them -
one who despises the very weather
they so adore.

"Well, really..." I begin to say,
"I wish it was raining."
The air suddenly becomes tense,
and a look of absolute horror
lights upon their face.

I guess some people just don't understand.
When the rain comes, I stand out in it.
I open my eyes and arms
and embrace the powerful drops
of refreshing peace
as they flood over me.
I feel like a new man - a new creation.

That's why I love the rain.
This poem © Kevin Walker. Published September 2013.

Once you get pastall of the doubts and fears,all of the harsh words and critical ideas,you’ll find yourself finally able to breathe.
Breathing is the first action,and living,really living,follows after.
This poem © Kevin Walker. Published September 2013.

The streets are crumbling here,
the sidewalks interrupted by green weeds.
Mrs. Jones’ house isn’t kept up anymore.It’s been ten years now since she passed away.
Isn’t it funny how an afternoon can pass so slowly,yet a life can pass so quickly?
I worry about old Mr. Thames.It’s been six months since he lost his bride of fifty-three years.
I see him sitting on the front porch every morning,staring off into the distance,unable to accept his new reality.
Life can deal you a cruel hand sometimes.
And people lower their head around you, hoping you’ll eventually just move on.
But I’ve learned there’s no such thing as moving on.
Life always leaves it’s indelible mark on us.
This poem © Kevin Walker. Published September 2013.

The deepness of your majesty
towers over me,
covering me with goodness and grace.

And yet I'm terrified.

I understand that the dark clouds
hovering above -
the thunder and lightning -
are simply a display of your power.

I understand that you are for me.
My eternal good rests firmly in your hands.

And yet, I understand enough
to know that I really don't understand
anything about you.

Does the fire in your eyes
burn with love or with fury?

Is your voice filled with anger
or compassion?

You remind me that my vision is blurry,
and my voice is weak.

Your thoughts are higher.

And, just when I think I have you figured out,
I see a display of your power and majesty
so "other," that it pushes me,
face down,
trembling,
unable to fathom all that you are.

This poem © Kevin Walker. Published August 2013.