Trying to Understand the MisUnderstandable....

Trying to figure out life can be tough. Over my 32 years of life I have seemingly experienced alot. I wrote this poem the other day with a vision in mind of how the sinner in us tries to figure out the "whys" in our lives. I hope my vision on paper can bless you who read it.

The Purpose of “Why:”
A Tale of Mending


To close your eyes & relax the mind the thought of “why” is a motion somewhat sublime.
For the pinpointing moment of when the muscles are calm you are left with no words or psalms; the dessert of emotions blow recklessly, as you stare at the qualms.

No sifting of actions will leave the answer you seek; locating the purpose for “why” lies unforeseen and bleak.


One foot from the other you pace the dark, blinking your eyes holds no change or distinct mark; what’s said was said, no ears are blocked, another heart left with chains & lock.
The impulsivity of desires are deemed positive to one yet incarcerated in a rejective society.
Is there no bond to the “why” that’s scripted? Or shall all actions stay broken and unmended?

The “whys” they lie beneath the hidden shades of “whos” and “hows” awaiting to pounce the now; leaving a ever wondering cycle of confusion that leaves the spirit numb.
The pulsing of life that runs through your veins, now dead to the convincing of your defeated mind; a self-fulfilling prophecy that none can avoid nor try to explain.
What is the purpose of these “whys”? What gives them power within our lives?

It was at the end of this stick of dynamite that the scales were blown to a clarity of sight.
A cross that shadowed a distance reached out and touched my ever dyer existence.
Feeling the drops fall down upon me; the drops of a lamb’s sacrificial demoralizing.
Did you know the “whos” or the “whats”? That made you accept the fate given from Pilot?

These mere stumbles that we call tragedies can never compare to the thorns driven from Calvary; my name written upon your olive back erase the scars I bare in this world of lack.
The path that seemed so dark and lost now comes across as a walk with no real cost.
The purpose of “why” is not for me to decide, nor is it a fate to fear and hide.

From the “why” of then to the “why” of now I kneel down and bring a bow.
Submittance of par is the average to start, with a goal to mend shows this sinner as smart.
You’ve covered my thoughts, my fears, my sight with the answers deemed merciful after you risen that night.
The purpose of “why” can now veer to a shy, for man’s need to seed the thought has shriveled and died; covered by blood no one can deny, for each day that I walk defines my purpose of “why”.

Chad E. Taylor 3/12/08

Do you know this Child of God?

Identity Theft

Dark and cold, my eyes open to the same; unfamiliar to where I am.
Exhaling my air I realize in the mist of the dust I’m kissing the dirt’s crust.
Beaten and bruised I call to you, the you to whom I am unaware....alone.
Sitting up I am still blind, to feel my face is a clean slate; my identity was left behind.

For years a name labeled the “who” or even the “what,” yet an unbeknown the “why” hasn’t been caught; the “runaway” that has been the allude.
The strived for seems to run its coarse in the maze of the unfounded, the life you wish you had, yet the reality that which you try to focus through.
What is your picture? What is your movie? Has your identity left also through the butt of a “doobie”?

Your purpose to breathe is to forward a life, yet with each inhale you feel the bumps of brail; fingering around yet another unknown translation.
Your mind desires to speak, yet your words are gibberish; you are a mute.
The heart paints the vision of the masterpiece you wish to be; all of your colors though run like the stream, the identity of all your dreams.

Crying can shed no more tears due to their own evaporating of these unknown fears; emotions are kept dormant like reality’s understanding.
Unplanned failures mimic unexplained behaviors each baring weight upon the shoulders dropping a spirit to the depths of this dark prison again.
The cycle, to which continues, victimizes my being since I first knew you.

You....the one I think to know, yet still fades to memory when a need is in a rut; to the loved ones they see the “me” I truly need to dig out and be.
Sifting the negative, the lowly, the confused and the slow; what seeds would be left to let the Son groom and grow?
To be planted in the field of purpose with each day to sow; my frailness needs to understand and come to know....know the “who” and the “why” this life bestows.


Exhaustion has cost my senses to see, frustration continues consuming me.
Let the paint dry, the masterpiece defined! Then a heart could embrace the “who am I”?
Knelt down you are back where you came, still pondering the whom to blame; lying in the fetal, the picture is left...why am I the victim of this identity theft?

Chad E. Taylor 2/29/08