Mike Klumpp
Esse Quam Videri
Warrior- Pastor- Poet

crossroads in kansas:

the tick tock of time passing
sitting on clay roads in kansas
clouds on the ground
fog and hollow
empty roads running along a ridge of silence
white and clandestine
alone and alone
all alone

white sky and bone billows in bellows
of wind and wasteland
together in marginal madness
we color by numbers within lines
pictures and portraits
of fading shapes

the science of knowing
the knowing of nothing
establishing compass points
and numerical characters
to mark our place
determine our progress
establish our position

yet in one continual theme of grey
the emptiness reclaims in calm
all of the noise of today
in the endless foam of tomorrow's promise
and the ebbing tide of yesterdays

if i 
could picture the eyes of my children
if i could dance on their smiles
and open my horizons to their groping grasping hands
i would lay in their possession
my passions and my portion
of all that is cloaked in joy and sadness
for one eternal moment of harmony and childhood
living with them forever
without fear or striving
in the stream of light
that flows forth from the innocent childlike hope
of a father's return and a home filled with warmth and compassion

whatever happened to my youth?

choose well children
make a path
and steer clear of footsteps which falter on guilt and regret

love those you love
there is nothing else
crossroads in kansas:

the tick tock of time passing
sitting on clay roads in kansas
clouds on the ground
fog and hollow
empty roads running along a ridge of silence
white and clandestine
alone and alone
all alone

white sky and bone billows in bellows
of wind and wasteland
together in marginal madness
we color by numbers within lines
pictures and portraits
of fading shapes

the science of knowing
the knowing of nothing
establishing compass points
and numerical characters
to mark our place
determine our progress
establish our position

yet in one continual theme of grey
the emptiness reclaims in calm
all of the noise of today
in the endless foam of tomorrow's promise
and the ebbing tide of yesterdays

if i 
could picture the eyes of my children
if i could dance on their smiles
and open my horizons to their groping grasping hands
i would lay in their possession
my passions and my portion
of all that is cloaked in joy and sadness
for one eternal moment of harmony and childhood
living with them forever
without fear or striving
in the stream of light
that flows forth from the innocent childlike hope
of a father's return and a home filled with warmth and compassion

whatever happened to my youth?

choose well children
make a path
and steer clear of footsteps which falter on guilt and regret

love those you love
there is nothing else