All I Can Be

I often wondered why people keep diaries.  Why spend time documenting the past only to spend time reading it in the future?  Seems like a waste of time to me. Why not spend every moment on the present, in the hope of shaping a better future.  You cannot change the past, so why re-live it?

Today it seems like there’s two factions of hate out there stuck in the past.  One wants to erase it, the other wants to constantly revisit it.  Neither option is healthy.  History is our heritage.  Documentation clarifies our lineage.  But most importantly our history and the symbols and monuments that classify our heritage are an irreplaceable string woven into the threads of our American tapestry. 

Our security blanket is unraveling.  And it has nothing to do with Republican or Democrat, Conservative or Liberal but rather how our own foundation of law has been twisted against the trust it once protected.  Over time our enemies realized they couldn’t beat us on the perimeters, so they infiltrated from within. 

What a better way to tear down a nation… than to erase the monuments of its history?  We learn from our mistakes and we grow from the experience.  Future generations can learn from our history just as we use recorded history to unravel some of today’s most perplexing mysteries.  If we tear the map in half we’ll never find the treasure.

This poem is a bit of my personal history; when the mood to write something fresh escapes I have pages and pages of writings from my past.  This one is on the flip side of the page that the previous post was on.  I didn’t turn that page over for a day or so, but when I did I was pleased that it was date and time stamped.  A snapshot in time of exactly what my mind was thinking and my eyes were seeing.  I hope you enjoy this sliver of thought from a jail house diary.      

“All I Can Be”   August 24^th, 2005 9:10 AM

My heart beckons for a new days call

I don’t want to be here when the leaves fall

Each day I awake I see a fresh sunrise

It reminds me of new beginnings, a sign to the wise

The smoke drifts up high from the power plant stacks

They are off in the distance like the cranes on the rivers back

A flag flies in the middle, surrounded by it all

I long to hear your voice, but I cannot call

My view is wonderful, the bridges and the ballpark

But it only makes my mind beckon more for a spark

I see the homeless as they come and go with the flow

And I’m humbled knowing soon I’ll be part of the show

But the Lord will deliver me, His words a promise

At night the words comfort me, I miss your sweet kiss

Alone and scared of what might become of me
I have to stay strong and hope you’ll write me

I pray and read a lot and think about the past and future

All the while knowing it is the present we need to nurture

It has been over a week now I have been in this slump

We’re locked down because of some chump

And who do I see but my ‘ol buddy CO Culton from 2 East

I spent a lot of time there, he’s seen me quiet & as a beast

This morning a fresh attitude made me pause

Been a break in my case, finally some movement of cause

I do not know what final outcome awaits me

But new hopes and challenges I know I’ll see

In His Glory I’ll hope to lay a final decree

And be all… that I can possibly be.  © BAS    Luke Chp. 12:32-48