Happy V-Day =.)

Valentine's Day: It can be good or bad depending on the status of your personal life; if you’re with someone, it’s like Elysium; if you’re not, it’s like Tartarus – or at least the Second Circle of Hell, where all the elements collude and come together to keep you and your true love apart। The storm can seem unending। The ground effete for depravity of light. Your own hopes have become projectiles and used against you. It’s cold. You’re damp. And it’s useless, for the only thing that can warm and dry you is the one thing that has so hidden itself from you that it seems unreal, and unlikely to manifest in your life.

Don’t give up hope, no matter how many times it’s flung back into your face. It becomes a mockery only when you begin to express self-doubt; those whom chortle with Schadenfreude know not the nature of your storm, much less the power welled deep within you to overcome it. Hope won’t deface your loyalty to her. Love will soon reveal herself; even if it’s gotten dark, she’ll be your beacon in the night. So keep smiling at that girl. Keep waving at that guy. Keep doing the little things that seem futile to the casual observer – to you, too, if you begin to see through his eyes. Doubt can kill a dream, so never stop believing.

There are times, however, when resistance and insistence collide; conflicting desires make for the greatest friction: He does, but she doesn’t, or vice versa. It’s one of the most hurtful things one can experience, rejection, or the inevitability of rejection. It’s perplexing, for you believe to have said and done all the right things; but sometimes it’s not the words or actions as much as it’s the person saying and doing them. Maybe it has to do with one’s color. Avarice. Differing religious beliefs. Politics. Outward perception. Sexual orientation, even! Any one or number of petty things that can keep a person from experiencing one of life’s greatest bounties. Sometimes, though, a person just isn’t turned on by you – but that’s not an indictment on your character। The important thing to note is that there is nothing wrong with you, and that somebody out there, somewhere, wants you.

For those of you who have someone, today shouldn’t be any different than the other 364 days। Prostrate your love in the light of ALL days। Seek to consummate that love every night, not just the night of every February 14th। Celebrate what you have not just when the calendar deems it most appropriate. When you buy into the commercialism, you become its greatest commodity. Love is all but rendered superficial. Don’t be fake, please.

Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson asked whether love is alive. I’m here to answer that it is. Love lives in people. It breeds from our every, selfless action. Sometimes you can rain down upon a person enough love that you begin to grow on them. For the hopeful, this is their wish. And for those who’ve succeeded in doing so, don’t stop just because you’ve done so already; keep love alive by watering it with some of your own. To the single lot, that special someone is out there, don’t you stop believing. To the lovers, don’t stop loving. Happy Valentine’s Day, all! I love you :*

Birthday Poem II

February 26, 1990…

A beautiful child was born;

She filled her parents’ hearts with such glee,

While the angels in Heaven were left to mourn…

Por veinte años ellos lloraban,

“Father, we miss her so,”

(They lamented she was in a distant land,)

And the Lord spoke to them and said, “Fear not, for each night

I’ve insisted the stars come out…and guide her wherever she may go;

Whatever seeks to inflict harm upon her will fall by My hand—

These things, I’m sure, she, too, knows.”

And she’s always known God to be on her side;

The Good Book is her written authority,

Canon by which she’s long sought to abide—

Not the world’s order…or the antiquated Code of Hammurabi,

For she knows the transgressor is not just in these courts tried;

God’s word is superjacent to all, and will decide one’s final destiny…

They say when she was born, the sky was of amethyst—

One of her favourite colors,

And her mother’s womb did the Virgin Mary so duly bless…

With the softest, sweetest kiss,

The purveyor of beatific things,

Su destino era purgar el mundo de todo el doler.

And she’s aptly suited to such calling;

Her heart is as big as her home state of Texas—

The breadth of ten Iowan corn fields;

She’ll melt your essence with a smile ever so infectious,

Even compelling the most guarded of men to finally lower his shield—

Truly the angels in Heaven have reason to lament,

For gone from their realm is something that is beyond empyreal.

Sí, los ángeles en a Cielo tienen razón lamentar,

Porque ellos perdieron alguien muy especial—

Como cuando a Dios mandó un ángel otro salvar este mundo—

Y como Él, porque ella existe, los que la conocen, sus vidas son ricas.

Hope lives…with each breath she takes,

The lives changed stemming from her every gesture—

Like the vagrant whose thirst she slakes,

With the angels’ tears from Heaven her Father helps her to procure,

Or the people whose lives were changed by shifting plates;

She prays for a peripeteia in their plight…

And that through Him they find the strength to endure.

Children love her,

As she in turn loves them,

And in their eyes she sees a love as bright as their future;

They see in her the aplomb of a rose—strong, redolent, prim—

Together they see life as unscripted, yet to be determined,

Not entailed with the plots that'd make for great theater,

Or a storyline that, by necessity, has to be grim,

For blessed is the life of he that lives through Him.

(How close can you get to an angel

Without falling in love with a dream?

I can’t say for certain, but I feel it’s much too late for me…)

I…love…her—with that idyllic love of lore,

The kind that keeps a sailor sane whilst at sea—

Even when the distance between he and she…

Is as great as that between the mast and the ocean floor—

Piracy and humanity…

Her love is far greater than any natant hoard,

That’d drive a man to plunder for lack of morality—

She’s enough plus everything times a thousand more,

Yes, I’ve fallen in love with a dream, and it’s much too late for me.

Still, though, all beauty evanesces,

Yet, like a great love story, has the sweetest prelude,

Where love itself is make or miss,

But prevails over all when the story doth conclude—

I know her, this girl—the girl…

Through whom all beautiful things has its genesis,

Whose spirit affords one an unfiltered view,

To a God who stays the same—no matter how much the world changes;

Like her father, she is love unwavering, tried and true…

Still the girl who, after twenty years, the angels in Heaven still miss,

Even more so on today, as the sky is again that amethyst hue—

Después veinte años, todas las lágrimas de las ángeles,

Siempre es la chica—nuestra chica; su nombre es…Genesis—

My beautiful friend, Happy Birthday to you.

- Kevin Waring

Birthday Poem II (Prelude)

Genesis, your inner and outer beauty makes you whole and absolves you of deficiency. You complement the life whose air you take in so vigorously each day you wake. Everything you do is beautiful and not without purpose, for the place from which you’ve come sends alow none other than great things. Taken in have I the love I’ve dared to dream you’d someday give to me, and I have nothing but such for you. Feliz cumpleaños otra vez, y a Dios te bendiga.