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Progressive Digression

  A Book of Poetry

  Jordan M Ehrlich

  PROGRESSIVE DIGRESSION: A BOOK OF POETRY

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2013 by Jordan M Ehrlich.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Third Edition: November, 2013

  Contents

  As I Sit Here and Think

  beating

  blanket

  brink

  broken

  Conquest

  Contemplation

  dialogue

  Dream in My Head

  endgame

  Faith in Me

  Father

  For Arwen

  Found at Sea

  the game

  hand to hand

  I Suck

  life less empty

  Lucid Dreams

  Man's Course, God's Steps

  morning

  off my back

  ONLY ONE

  orbit

  Paradise Reclaimed

  passive

  The Phone Call

  Shower

  unquenchable

  unrequited

  When I Was Tall

  Where are You Running?

  with me

  Writing About You

  As I Sit Here and Think

  As I sit here and think

  About all the times I’ve tried

  To get you to notice me

  To try and get you to see me

  The same way you see all those other guys

  I think about how I can never measure up

  To all those guys that are after you

  If I ever got a chance to get you alone

  Would you even talk to me

  Or would you sit there and talk at me

  Thinking about all the other guys in your life

  Who am I, and what am I doing

  Talking to you?

  As I sit here and think about

  All the guys that you consider relationships with

  I realize that I can never measure up to your standards

  So why even try

  Why talk to you

  Why try to be your friend

  Why return the smiles you grace me with

  Why sit alone in my car

  Wondering if I should call you

  Why drive around your block

  Wondering if I should pay you a visit

  Why clutter up my mind with thoughts of you

  And spend most every waking moment

  Involuntarily thinking of you

  And the little things you do or don’t do

  But what I should ask is

  How could I not wonder about all these things

  How can I not think about you

  How could I ever get you out of my head

  When every time I see you

  It’s like for the first time

  And you remain on my mind

  Like an unwanted guest

  But a guest that I could never let go.

  Until you say you want to leave my mind,

  I will go on thinking of you that way

  I have no choice

  But how can you say you want to leave

  When you don’t even know that you’re in my head

  If you only knew how you occupy my mind and heart

  Would you be flattered or horrified?

  Do I dare tell you

  How I feel

  Or go on living in agony?

  “Better is open rebuke

  Than hidden love”

  I ponder these words

  And make up a plan to let you in

  On my little secret

  But when the time comes

  No words come out of my mouth

  But those that mean nothing

  And you go on,

  None the wiser

  And the clock continues to wind down

  To the day when it will be too late

  To tell you how I feel

  I consider this

  Pace the floor

  Beat myself up

  Mope around

  But what does this accomplish?

  When at the same time

  You are making plans to go out with a new guy

  And I must sulk

  Until the next time I see you

  And you grace me with your smile

  And your words that mean more than you could ever know

  And the questions remain

  Why I even return that smile

  And whether I will ever tell you how I feel

  And whether you would even care.

  beating

  from every heart comes a piercing;

  many hearts take a piercing

  and most take a beating

  nearly to stop beating.

  but this pain is merely fleeting;

  just keep repeating:

  when my love is seating,

  and its object is cheating,

  the one i am needing

  is still out there, needing.

  blanket

  like a warm quilt,

  like a blanket of snow over a land ravaged by bloodshed,

  your love covers my guilt.

  all the shame and hideousness of my sin

  is replaced by a heavy dose of grace.

  just as the snow that covers the blood

  eventually melts away and washes the space,

  you come into my heart and wash away the wickedness.

  i stumble in the wilderness...blinded by the blizzard and the cold,

  but in the distance i spot a cabin with a light on in the window.

  as i push on towards the haven with will bold,

  i am suddenly hit by a sudden gust of wind and a blast of bitterness.

  i try to get back up off the cold hard ground,

  but blackness and bleakness soon take over the white that once flooded my vision.

  within my private bleak dungeon i begin to dream dreams of being bound

  by some unknown force known only by being more black than the black surrounding it.

  suddenly the lights come back on, and i feel warmth coming into my being.

  above me a kindly old man carrying a bowl of hot broth feeds me and speaks to my fears.

  yes, i am alive, and indeed have been found and brought out of the cold sting.

  in fact, i have also been covered by a heavy blanket, which covers the scars procured by the blizzard.

  brink

  you say no one understands you,

  that you've lived life so outside the box

  that no one could have a clue.

  could you possibly be so far down

  as to be beyond all hope?

  i see you standing on the brink;

  you can hardly cope,

  as you stare blindly down into the emptiness.

  as you stand there apparently devoid of emotion,

  the ground beneath you begins to give way

  and in one instantaneous motion,

  you fall to your fate, turn around,

  and let out the first cry for help ever uttered from your lips,

  and i see on your face an expression that could break stone.

  i rush to save you, but your potential rescuer trips.

  as i lie there, overlooking your fate, the tears begin to well up

  in my cold eyes, for my friend is gone, this time to never return, it's true.

  i hear an oddly melodic voice above me,
and i roll over and look up.

  there you are, safe and sound, standing with the one Man who understands you, who has a clue,

  the Man who saved you from falling, who made the box and lives outside it, our Savior, Jesus Christ.

  broken

  And I just want to bring myself low,

  To reflect my actual position;

  what will God bestow

  upon me, except humility?

  when my every word and action

  make a mockery of myself

  and with the life God has granted me, cause a reaction

  that surprises even myself in retrospection.

  Arrogant, selfish, self-absorbed, oblivious

  To the feelings of others, immature, reckless, quick to anger;

  How can God choose to forgive such an obvious

  Failure? How can you put up with such a man?

  I know not, but that this only proves God’s love all the more.

  The words that come flowing out of my mouth

  Like a continuous tide headed for shore

  Need to be dammed up.

  Loosing my gaze off of men

  And turning it to Christ,

  I learn humility again.

  Jesus: here is a man born in and of humility.

  May I become more and more like Christ every day,

  This being my prayer that I will take to heart,

  And that I hope you will pray

  For me too.

  I’m sorry for being obnoxious and plain annoying.

  I’m trying to put to death these negative attributes,

  So please forgive me if I fail at trying.

  Please help me along the way, and try to make a model of Christ for me to imitate.

   

  Conquest

  Climbing to the top of my tower,

  I take a look through my telescope,

  Which is set on a flower.

  A simple sight this is,

  As I consider my wealth,

  My greatness,

  And my health.

  "What is this thing?"

  I ask as I turn away in mirth,

  Adjusting my telescope,

  In search of something with worth.

  I pan the lens upwards a little,

  And I find my eyes fixed on a business-man,

  Dressed all in his finery and luxury.

  As he walks his road with cash in hand,

  He encounters a young crippled boy,

  Who lifts one hand upraised to the sky.

  Standing as if in some debate,

  The man eventually walks on by,

  Nearly knocking the boy over on his way.

  Having had enough of snooping,

  I leave my viewing-post,

  And I retreat to my bedroom with eyes drooping.

  Before I retire to bed,

  I take a glance at the day's news;

  More about the war.

  "We can't lose!"

  Screams the general on TV in triumph.

  "Their resistance is folly!"

  But can our war really be just?

  I wonder whether this situation ought be.

  But such is life: war is hell,

  And we can't avoid war,

  So we can't avoid hell.

  What is life for,

  I wonder as I drift off to sleep,

  If it's just a means to an end,

  And that end is death?

  That night I would spend,

  Receiving messages in my sleep.

  During one vision,

  I found myself a father,

  Making a tough decision.

  My son had done something bad,

  And he I was to punish.

  I hear a voice from above,

  "Not too harsh, or he will perish.

  Not too lax, or he will spoil."

  Good advice,

  I think as I consider a punishment.

  My second dream was not so nice,

  For in it I was taken to a battlefield,

  Where my country was at war.

  I was in general's clothes,

  And I was in command of a corps.

  My advisors speak:

  "Sir, their force is small;

  "We have them where we want them.

  "Strike, and they will fall!"

  All my men seem to agree,

  Looking on with blood-hungry eyes.

  "Weigh your actions!"

  The voice from above fills the skies.

  "Not too harsh, or he will perish.

  "Not too lax, or he will spoil!"

  Thinking about this,

  I consider whether this war was really about oil,

  Contrary to what we have been led to believe.

  I was taken to one more place in my head;

  As I looked around, I saw that I was out in a field,

  The very one where I had seen the flower bed.

  I was directed right back to the one I had viewed earlier.

  The very same business-man I had seen earlier was staring at this flower.

  "What is this thing?"

  He asks, as he contemplates his power.

  "I can't lose."

  He says with a sad eye,

  As he raises his foot to crush.

  I hear a voice whisper in my ear: "I did not make this to die.

  You in all your power can not make even one new life.

  "I have created and formed everything you see here.

  Therefore what God has joined together let no man separate."

  I dive forward to save the flower in fear.

  "What are you doing?"

  "For this to live, others must toil!

  Not too harsh, or he will perish.

  Not too lax, or he will spoil!"

  This scene is the end of my sleep.

  I think I have understood the meaning of my dreams.

  I wonder what they will mean to you.