An excerpt from volume 9 of my diary from August 2011:

“Do things that are worth recording

Record things that are worth reading

Read things that are worth remembering

Remember things that are worth learning

Learn things that are worth doing”



I heard your voice. It’s beautiful, like honey on the eardrums

As the flutes and pipers play and frolic while the guitar strums

I’m taken from my empty home into imagination

Just like a train, each stop I make drops me into a new station

From grinding metal, songs of praise, and trumpets blaring loud

To zipping lines from rappers’ mouths and rockers in a crowd

But searching for you in the mass of music in this place

Is tricky, thoughts and memories don’t even give a face

To you, the one I lost so long ago when we still played

We thought we would remain together, but only music stayed

And then it all goes quiet for the playlist’s at its end

It’s time to hit the rewind key. The music starts again.

– theresurreccionofkevin


I’ve torn a gash upon my skin again

Though i’ve been watching for the rocks

The warmth of blood sneaks through

It’s deep, a cavern carved on flesh

A ragged river runs, ruby red

If only I could tie it up

Like birthday gifts are ribbon-bound

But now I miss my mother’s songs

That passed her lips in younger years

With threaded needle she made swim

Into a well-torn shirt, each rise and fall

Left waves of thread, when pulled, grew tight

As I became when I grew up, a fragile cloth

Spread taut. The easier it is to tear

With sharpened tongues or fool’s gold tears

Perhaps to wrinkle is the best, to fold

Before I break

– theresurreccionofkevin


Of this regret is nothing left

Forgotten like the tears on panes

Of glass. The morning springs a new

Beginning with the dew. The pain, 

Like spiny grass upon bare feet

That serves to tingle and remind

Of darker times from previous nights. 

I might remember feats that bare 

My soul, once darkened, now made whole

Renewed, unburdened by what’s left. 


The seasons pass, like seasoning

On raw and tasteless reasoning

With reason, splashes, dashes, pinch

Of dressing on a dish, a dress

Like pretty words upon a page

Or fresh plucked flowers on a face

All done in good taste. Flavor speaks

To me. Each bite I savor long

And slow. I long for bygone days

And seasons past that flavor thoughts

And memories that never die

– theresurreccionofkevin