Rise

The warrior trips, falls on his face.
A nation stops its noise.
A tragedy is made possible,
More bitter than was Troy's.
For if this warrior, so battered,
Chooses not to rise,
Nation will fight nation,
For he made no further tries.
It's been three years plus thirty
Since I was given birth.
I have struggled all throughout
To find my own true worth.
It's easy to see beauty
In those who round me stand.
It's been near impossible at times
To see the good God, in me, planned.
The warrior who has fallen,
Breathing hard and low,
Shakes his head wearily.
He does not want to go.
A warrior wanting peace, instead
Of conflict, grief, and death,
Fights to keep eyes open
And to maintain his own life breath.
All round the warrior,
Those he does not see
Fight for him and fight against him,
To make him slave or set him free.
While the battle's fought,
Without and within,
The Hand That Wrote All
Gives the earth another spin
These forces, each in action,
Powerful that they are,
Will not, cannot stop the warrior
From choosing to go far.
Warrior's will to endure
Carries him every stumble.
Storm and tempest powerless,
Though elements may rumble.
Three plus thirty-thousand
Long, hard years of pain...
Warrior, richer than any,
Learns heartache brings great gain.
You who read these words, realize
Who and what you are:
God's own son or daughter,
Worth more than endless stars.
Nothing can, or will, force you
To halt, or pause, or quit.
You are looking for a miracle.
This is it.
Your gold is in the fire.
True love's in the storm.
Frozen, you hate to move
But it's how you will get warm.
So many fight for you.
Ponder why it is they fight.
This world grows ever darker.
Please, come to the light.

Adam Scott Campbell

Darkness And Gold

Does the falling hurt?  Can you, after, stand?
All the pain locked inside the warrior You
Cannot force you to choose what to do.
It is a deadly, even fatal, path that's planned.
None say they endure, as you, what you go through.

Maybe they admire you for your fires, too.

Every laugh and jest against
Seem pure cruelty dispensed.
No gold hidden 'side your heart
Dare you share, lest any beware
The very real darkness kept inside.

Darkness in them.  Darkness in you.

Shrouded in that darkness, a treasure untold.
None could resist taking your gold
Could this gold choose to move
Outside the heart that is its hold,
Pained for each blast of loving cold.

How much can you bear to go through?

Repeat action taken so many times.
Lay your heart out.  At the world's mercy,
You do what so few can ever do.
Vulnerable by choice.  Nothing hid.
Of secrets you are completely through.

Do you know the full worth of you?

Has no one told you that you are strong?
Without guarantees you still push on,
Hoping and wanting the gold at the end.
You hear that you have treasure now.
Can it be?  Will you, hope, allow?

Treasure in the dark, O Warrior You.

Adam Scott Campbell

Try, Again

It hurts to feel, so much you cry,

Telling self you’d rather die,

Knowing not what it is you say.

One bled and died yesterday

To keep you going, anyway.

To hurt, you think, you’d rather not,

But in your hurt you find self caught.

With every ounce of heart-life gave,

You suppose you’ll somehow save

That same, spoon-fed life you gave.

In midst of hurt, you search high and low,

For sanctuary to which you’ll go.

All the while, pained and alone,

Seeds of self-hatred sown

Of which you have hardly known.

Your embattled, wound-spattered heart

Must find some miraculous restart.

Spiritually-trained personnel

Stand ready to walk with you through your hell

Into which, so long past, you fell.

What do you say? What will you do?

Move through fire with friends to help you?

Choose to turn to One who bled?

Learn and relearn words He’s said?

Feast on heart-manna you’re meant to be fed?

Asks one whose whole soul is scarred,

Whose heart, also, is battered and marred.

Like a broken, beaten up fool, again

I’ll ask if you’ll try, try, try it again.

Will you not try feeling, again?

Adam Scott Campbell

Dream-Ache

In one hand, a beautiful golden pen.
In the other, a heart ne'er able to dry.
Only time knows exactly when
Said heart will cease to try.

In one pen, an ink to make one free.
In one heart, the blood to gain sight.
Only One Omniscient sees
How two learned, as one, to fight.

In one drop of ink carefully used,
Perhaps one warrior saved,
Sparing writer the death
For which one drop of blood he gave.

By one particle of a mind at peace
Writer writes raw, written word
Wishing for white, soothing fleece
Of which he's only heard.

Reclining on this rocky shore,
Sea foam all around,
Shivering... pained... thoughts stored,
Languishing on the ground.

Sea foam laps at shoulders.
Now neck, now chin not dry.
Writer dreams as he gets colder,
Knowing not the Why.

Floating now in salted,
Bluest water out to sea,
Writer-warrior does not feel
Arms bearing him free.

Laid in wheeled chariot,
Pushed to carriage side,
He knows not at all
Where his body lies.

In cold, watery grave?
In a bed of a kindly inn?
Floating o'er the wave?
Or a shrieking carriage, within?

Wither shall carriage bear him?
Upon which isle shall he land?
When he finds wave does not hold him,
Will he have the strength to stand?

Ache to be free, pained to be done,
Wanting and wishing the battle won,
Warrior-writer has no path
To find a warming sun.

Writer must needs write it:
The happenings of his war.
Warrior must needs fight it
However oft he is torn.

Swim the oceans, wield the sword
However long war lasts.
Writer-warrior will write and fight
Until the pain is past.

"His vitals are all stable.
I think he will be fine.
Make sure you check every fifteen.
No near-deaths, this time..."

Adam Scott Campbell

Our Dream

You have a dream.

I have a dream.

Each person who can think has a dream.  

Or two. Or five.  Or a dozen.  I'm going 

To do something I haven't done on this 

Blog before.  I am going to share my dream.

When I'm done, I will invite you to respond 

To this blog post and share your own dream 

Or dreams. Your response will not be posted 

Until you give me the OK to share it.  In 

Advance, thank you for your response.

I have a dream wherein the things I say, and 

the things I write, touch the lives of un-

Counted people the world over, one by one

By one by one.  I have a dream wherein my

Words only do good.  By "good," I mean 

They improve the thoughts, and thereby the 

Reality of children of God everywhere.  To

Clarify, I view each person as a literal child 

Of God, so this dream I share includes you, 

Each person you know, and every person you 

Don't.  I have a dream wherein I can share 

my story and know that there are so many 

Who identify with it that I don't number them.

Part of my dream is the kindness that prevails
In the actions of God's children that I want
To have a hand in bringing about.  Another
Part is that few people, very few if any, say
Anything to me about it.  I can see the light,
The happiness in their eyes, and that is enough.

My dream is a happy dream.  I believe in it,
And hope for it, and long for it despite the
Many obstacles that stand in the way.  
Obstacles are just things that need to be
Climbed over, gotten past, and pushed through.
You and I do that every time we take a breath.

What is your dream?  Why do you have it?
Where does it come from?  I'm eager to hear.

Adam

Fortunate

If you had just found out that the
Most heartfelt piece of your creative genius
Had been submitted successfully to
The most powerful publisher in the world,
And had been accepted out of thousands
Of submissions to be placed as the
Front page of their website, to be seen
By thousands and thousands and
Thousands of viewers, what would you
Think?  Say?  Do?  How would you act?
How would you behave if viewers the
World over sent in IM, text, call, email in
Droves praising you and your creation?
What if it gave the publisher the ability
To hire you/ pay you royalties/ bring
You fame and fortune for the rest of your
Life?  What if you never had to buy any-
Thing ever again, because others
Would fall over each other to buy what
You wanted for you?  What would you
Think if, because of what you created,
You were loved and adored by all, and
Helped by all, and protected and cared
For and provided for by all?  What would
You think if you then looked out your
Castle window and saw a homeless man,
Begging on the corner, unshaven, un-
Washed, not cared for, not loved, who
Happens to glance up to your window
To see you watching him?  What if he was
Blind?  What if he was missing an arm,
Or a leg, or both legs, or both arms?
What if he had children who didn't love
Him?  What if you didn't know any of
This? What if you did?  What if you could
Trade places with him?  Would you
Do so, for an hour? Two hours? Three?
Would you trade your entire life for his,
To give him your shelter, your food, your
Clothes, your fortune and fame and
Countless blessings from Almighty God,
And count yourself fortunate to be able
To help another in such a simple, pro-
Found way?  How would you feel, if you
Laid this trade before him, and he smiled
And thanked you, then told you no?
Could you take what you offered him,
Cast it aside, sit down next to him on
The corner of I-25 and Broadway, and
Be his begging friend for the rest of
Your life?  Go where he goes, live as
He lives, eat what he eats, sleep like he
Does, and consider yourself fortunate
To know someone with a heart of gold?
What happens the next time you see
Someone hurting?  Will you be aware
Of the feeling in the air, enough that
You can reach out and save an embattled
Life who stands on the edge of quitting?
There are 7+ billion people living on
This miraculous earth we live on.
Someone can use your help.
Eyes open.

Adam Scott Campbell