Wednesday, January 22, 2014

The Blind Warrior

The warrior stands alone,
Remembering past battles fought,
And in that memory claims his demons own.

With his sword, foes are laid prone,
But still he dreams of wars battled for naught.
The warrior stands alone.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

The Lone Traveler

The first glimpse showed sharp-planed hardness,
A deadly edge, harnessed.
            The first conversation, unexpected connection,
            Self-proclaimed tendency towards sociopathic reaction.
                                                                                                            Male version me.
                        Martial art, knives, travel, humor, all.

Monday, January 20, 2014

The Forgotten Battle

Overseas, the Second Great War raged on,
The bayonets did rattle.
American soil felt war in the predawn;
The Forgotten Battle.

Stepping Out On My Own

I stared at the email, having trouble believing what I was reading was true.  I tore upstairs to tell my mom the news: there had been a cancellation by another student, freeing up a space, and my application had been accepted!  If I could get everything ready, in two weeks I would be in Scotland to participate in a six-month school program with Youth With a Mission!  If this was to happen, there was much to consider and do in such a short time frame.  I had only been working at my coffee shop for a short number of months, but it was a job I loved and did not wish to lose.  I also had a couple of relationship dilemmas.  A strained friendship needed mending and I was struggling to understand the fledgling romantic relationship I found myself on the verge of entering.  But Scotland and the unknown called!  I let everyone know and threw myself into preparing for the trip.  Those two hectic weeks flew by, and before I knew it, I was preparing to board a plane that was taking me to one of the most pivotal seasons in my life.

Monday, January 13, 2014

She Stole My Heart

I stared out the window, watching the dry landscape go past. I did not want to do this. Every time we went back, it became increasingly difficult to step out of the bus and into the orphanage. I moved my gaze from the passing scenery and looked around at the people in the sparsely populated bus. It was taken up mainly by my group, a mixture of French, American, Swiss, Chilean, and British students, with a scattering of Ankara residents. When the bus stopped, only my group moved to get off, though Juan waited for me so that we disembarked together. He understood how hard this was for me.