Dare To Keep Breathing

I've been through the mill.  So have you.  So has she.  So has he.
I'm still here.
So are you.
So is she.
So is he.
You began the journey of life a long time ago.
Do you remember your beginning?
Have you decided when, and how, you will finish?
I've walked, and stumbled, and crawled through perilous, raging-white flame.
So have you.
So has she.
So has he.
We are still breathing, though I know breathing is more difficult for some.
What would you do, if one you loved couldn't breathe,
And you were given the chance to trade your breathing for theirs?
You would make the trade.  I know you would.  That is is what love is about.
How would you feel, knowing you had sacrificed your way of life
So that they could have their own life more abundantly?
How would you feel, in a hospital gown, with breathing tubes and IVs and
Monitoring equipment hooked up to your body, complete with beeping
And humming noises threatening your sanity with their repetition,
Knowing that your sacrifice has enabled someone's freedom?
How would you view yourself?
As a hero?
As a warrior?
As a golden-hearted miracle touching the lives of other miracles?
However you've suffered,
Whatever your personalized, soul-crushing fires have done to you,
Remember the things you have fought through and are fighting through.
Look at the real You.
The You that still fights on.
It doesn't matter what your chances are.
What matters is that you take your chances, and run with them
Or walk
Or crawl
Or sit in a bed hooked up to a breathing tube and IVs, and
Dare to keep breathing.

Adam Scott Campbell

What If

What would happen if every dream you held inside your heart
were all at once granted wings to fly and each soul-shattering pain
relieved and released from its grip on you, and abuse were halted
and ceased and made no more, and what if the only tears you
ever cried were tears of joy, and all your stumbles and trips and
faceplants in the mud made you laugh at the cartoon-esque vision
of yourself that was planted in your brain, and what would happen
if you were given a glimpse of the afterlife, in all its breathtaking
glory, and  you saw yourself as you really were, a brilliant, talented,
precious, worthwhile human being and child of Almighty God, who
did what you were called to do and meant to do, and the mistakes
you'd made in this life were swallowed up whole in the glory and
joy of Deity, in whose presence you now dwelt with all those you
loved, happy and saved and quickened and glorified, with all your
wounds and pains and scars healed so completely that you can
hardly remember them or find their shadows upon your soul, and
what would happen if words of hope were spoken by everyone
you came in contact with, and each soul had a reason to smile
and took advantage of the opportunity, and what would happen if
you took what you learned through your personalized struggles
and pains and agonies and chose to show a fellow sufferer how
your difficulties have taught you to persevere through it all be-
cause only when you persevere do you have the opportunity to fix
what's wrong and chalk one up for the good guys, and what
would happen if you saw the sufferings of those who worked
and sweat and breathed all round you, both friend and enemy,
and knew deep inside you that they each have a heart that beats
and pores that sweat and bleed and a soul of worth equal to yours,
and what would happen if you remembered to look at the bright
side however small that side may seem while you feel you have
been or are being torn apart but not allowed to be done, and what
will happen when you take your next step and come to know that
you still have ground to walk on, or skip on, or roll on, or just sit on,
and you still, you still, you still have the option of moving forward
to a glorious future?  What will happen?

Adam Scott Campbell

Deepest Wish

I walk to the edge.  I look all around.
Wind on this cliff's height.
I have not will to make a sound.
My muscles, lungs... heart... so tight.

I walk to the edge.  I look left and right.
Motored metal roaring past.
The darkest tunnel.  I see a light.
It draws nearer, coming at last.

I walk to the edge.  In a garage.
Motored metal, quiet, here.
Key in my pocket, safety's mirage.
Door shut, fume-danger so near.

I walk to the edge.  In hospital cell,
Forehead strikes the wall.
Here after months and years of hell.
"Stop," comes the intercom's call.

I walk to the edge.  Throat forms a lump.
I've stayed off my meds so long.
On back of my head, a long, scar-ish bump.
I was called to this.  They think me wrong.

I walk to the edge.  Tears streak my face.
I've no desire to stay on.
Stay on, I will, in this Journey-Not-Race.
My strength, my vision, gone.

I walk to the edge, many others behind,
Begging me to come back.
I have, on all levels, lost my pained mind.
But peace I, still, so lack.

I walk to the edge.  I turn away,
Knowing tis not the right.
Many may beg me stay,
But I walk by my own sight.

I walk from the edge, seeing you as you come,
Wanting what I have, too.
I know your thought far better that some.
I've another thought for you.

If you walk to that edge and keep on walking,
It will not be your end.
There is life after this life, but what kind?
It depends.

If you take this life and choose to snuff it out,
However miserable you may be,
You'll be far more miserable,
Having harmed your eternity.

I know this.  I know misery.
I've hurt in hell, too.
Find a reason to keep living.  This is
My Deepest Wish For You.

Adam Scott Campbell

Soul-Angel

Sword arm pauses.  War-heat recedes.
Sacred soul-sister silently pleads
For only peace, which never has been.
Only has such been seen within
A soul with the humblest, most basic needs.

That soul I've fleetingly seen before,
Crossing my path when I'd naught left in store-
Nothing to which war-poet may run.
Soul-sister - Soul Angel - seeing poet undone,
Paused, to hand war-poet gold from her Core.

Now that the struggle nears grateful end,
War-poet's Soul-Angel finds him again,
On bloody battlefield, the fallen all round.
He lays still and quiet on stained, grass-less ground
Soul Angel holds his lifeless, talented hand.

"Where go we now, soul-poet?" cries she.
"Where is the hope for two such as we?
Ever you struggle, stumble and cease,
While angels sue to grant another life-lease
To you, hoping someday to bring you to me."

"If there were no God," croaks war-poet.  She starts.
"...then there'd be no hope for dead, shattered hearts.
No love, nor joy.  No sorrow, nor pain.
No wondrous bleach-water for eternal stain.
No creation.  No science.  No need for the arts."

"Just so, dear poet," she breathes in, relieved.
"But it's you has always and ever believed.
I want you to persevere through it all."
"I do.  I shall, though I batter steel walls,
But admit it.  You, also, have always believed."

"True," she smiles gently.  "Tis truth you speak.
No matter how strong, no matter how weak,
I will always have faith that triumph you'll find,
No matter how very far you unwind,
No matter how much life-water you leak."

Soul-poet saved, yet another time,
On Almighty God's e'er- gracious dime,
By angels, whose purity bring me to squint,
Dull, indeed, seem both steel and flint,
Compared to an angel's brilliant soul-shine.

Adam Scott Campbell

Angel, Angel, So Wounded

What did he do?  Tear you apart?
Did he reach into your most sacred heart,
And with the treasures he found hidden there,
Build a fortress, stone walls without,
And lock you out, ere you were aware?

What does he see, once he turns the key?
Do hallowed heart-halls make him wish to flee?
Does Wounded Forever, in the air,
Cause this invader to fall on his face,
On glass floor, in sanctuary-now-lair?

"Wicked wolf, wicked wolf, let her back in!"
I cry to the beast locked deep within.
But wolf, having taken what can't be returned,
Shattered two souls in one evil move.
Was it far too late for wolf to learn?

You, O Wounded angel I saw
Standing soul-shattered with no balm at all,
No healing, no defense where legions should stand,
Blades ready, to defend only you,
God has GOOD things, healing things planned.

No angel, no healer, no wise man writes this,
But God can re-form all your stolen bliss.
Turn, quickly, to The-Hand-That-Wrote-All.
God's Hand can rewrite your future,
From this horrendous fall.

Angel, Angel, so wounded, so pure,
I cannot tell you, "You have to endure."
You shouldn't have to.  But I hope you choose
To keep persevering.
I hope you will choose.

Adam Scott Campbell

You Have A Choice

When you feel so very much that your mind begins to tear,
When every word makes wounds spread over every thought and care,
When those you love, though present, seem too far to touch,
You wonder when you'll know peace, and if it costs too much.

When you feel so very deeply that feeling seems a curse,
When one more drop of hardship makes you feel you are immersed,
When living feels a death sentence, and death, the kindest grace,
You do not know why you try daily to save face.

When feeling people hurts, but not knowing how to shield,
When knowing you were hurting, not knowing how you healed,
When surrounded by hurt, no matter where you turn,
You ache to feel more like them, in hopes that you would learn.

When words you speak, meant to help, cause only further pain,
When all your tidying up leaves only dirt and stain,
When recipients of your good intentions think you full of it,
You have a choice.  You can persevere, or you can quit.

You can quit.  You can lay down in the crummy dirt, to stay.
You can throw away your tomorrows, and finish your last day.
You can turn a blind eye to the others who, round you, lie,
When deep inside you lives someone you know won't stay to die.

You have this choice.  No matter what your state, it's there.
You know what you will do.  You know.  You know you care.
You will get up, fast or slow, but no matter, you'll persevere.
Seconds, or minutes, or hours, or days, or weeks, or months, or years.

When you get back up, others will still lie around.
Go to just one of them.  Help just one rise from the ground.
That someone, whomever they are, will help you then to heal.
This is the treasure waiting,
For those
Who dare
To feel.

Adam Scott Campbell