Brother Wolf

Here’s a poem I wrote–inspired by the Jungle Book. I hope you enjoy!

Dear brother wolf, please howl at night for me,
and let me know that all’s alright and free.
And when the tiger’s burning eyes conspire,
do save me from that gleam like human fire.
Oh, when the eyes of gold capture my soul
please let me know you’ll fight for me forever.

Now would you howl in darkness till forever?
Until the burning dies, you’d howl for me?
Until the fire has gone far passed my soul?
To rest in your soft fur till I am free?
The trees will churn and burn, for I am fire.
Carry me unto the heaven’s pier.

Now would you howl though snake and ape conspire
Though tiger fierce with teeth would kill forever?
Please howl so I can hear and fight my fire.
Please howl until your voice has come to me.
I hear your voice, though dark and soft, to free,
to fight, protect, be used to find my soul.

I hear it call above my burning soul,
above the fiery forest where snakes conspire.
Where apes, tigers and men bind what is free.
Your voice, like fountain springs that flow forever.
Like wise black panther breath to teach, lead me.
Your soft gray chest to nest my thoughts of fire.

My arms deep in your fur forget the fire,
a peace, like rain and frogs, quiets my soul.
And there, in silence, I can dream of being me.
Your wise and yellow eyes do not conspire.
I wish to hold this in my hand forever,
but I must let it fall like stones, be free.

I leave the skin and fur, the water free.
I leave the loving trees, for I am fire.
My brother howl to let me know forever
That like cruel chains on elephants, our souls
will tethered be. And I choose to conspire
to not forget you. Howl to remember me.

Until the fire of man is lost forever,
and darkened, desolate souls cease to conspire,
I will wait for your free howl, remembering me.



Oh whispering wind,
Tell me I’m growing up like a tree.
Tell me my roots are deepening.
Tell me I’m not shrinking.
Cause I feel so much smaller,
and yet I feel weary.
I feel so much older,
and yet I haven’t learned to stop falling.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day

Hey guys,

I know I haven’t written in forever and I want to apologize. Recently, I’ve been sick and have been trying to keep up with writing my book (even despite the sickness) and try to get school done (even though it’s crazy.) It’s a little bit funny. My friend texted me two weeks ago telling me I should write an essay about Lady Luck for St. Patrick’s day (which is an imaginary personification of Luck I grumble to or about when I’m playing card or board games.) Either way, today felt pretty unlucky. I had a procedure today—including sedation, no eating yesterday, (the whole deal)—but when we think about it St. Patrick’s Day isn’t really about luck either. In fact, when St. Patrick was my age, he was in Ireland (as a slave herding sheep.) Around my age, he’d been kidnapped and became a slave. That doesn’t sound very lucky! But at the same time, later in life, he became a great missionary to Ireland. I don’t know what God wants to do with my life. Often, I have trouble trusting him. But on St. Patrick’s Day I get to remember, that through it all God is in control. And, he’s preparing me. Preparing me for something amazing and great. Something I don’t understand or know right now. But I can trust him that today being sick is one step in the process of becoming who he’s making me and embracing his wonderful plan. Let it be! Thank you, Jesus. I trust you.

“His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’”—Matthew 25:23

In Christ,