What we are made of

For Julia. Please stay.

Can you feel it? Here, take two fingers, put them right on your neck. Can you feel it? Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. There ya go, there’s your heart. Beating out the rhythm of the universe. Millions of micromachines all together hammering along to the symphonies of stars and sub particles. Blood coursing through miles of arteries, capillaries, veins, heart, arteries capillaries, veins, heart, arteries, capillaries, veins, heart and round again and again. Blood racing to deliver oxygen to the nigh insatiable chemical infernos within your every cell. You are composed of trillions of teeny machines running combustion engines to keep themselves going. Each one programmed, designed, and refined for one purpose, life. Millennia of painstaking progress embodied in you. It takes more information to make one cell than it does to record all of our own measly history, literature, and profanity. That’s just your body. Stars explode and leave behind burning planets. Planets cool and we are built on the remains. From dust we are fashioned. Yet, is that it? Are we but the products of death and dead things, be they stars, or planets, or people? Are we but the accidents of eons? Am I simply the random combinations of “C”s, “H”s, “O”s, “N”s, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera?

Hardly. The incessant beating of your heart ought to chide you against such dreary thoughts. I could postulate, debate, and exasperate over the proofs and evidences of our selves. Yet in the end, we are but left with the question. What are we? What in the end are we composed of? 

Go on then. Strip away the organs. Tear off the tissue. Cut away the cells. Disassemble the macromolecules. I am more than carbohydrates, proteins, lipids, and nucleic acids! When all that is gone, what then remains of me? Sit down Shakespeare, for we are made of firmer stuff than dreams. Thank you Doctor Sagan but we are greater than just star dust. 

If I took your pieces could I remake you? If I took the code that writes your hair would it still fall the same way? If I found the code that writes your mouth, would it still smile the same way? If I took the code that writes your eyes, would they still shine the same way? If I took the code for your heart, would it break the same way? No, you are irreplaceable and precious. Made of more than the stuff of stars and dreams.

We are not the made by the mistakes of people, planets, or physics. We are the deliberate masterpieces. We are formed with the very laws of creation focused on planets doing their business within the bodies of people. We are the revelation of the Magnificently Metaphysical Maker maddeningly saying to physics and chemistry: “Stand aside. Let Me finish the job.” You are irreplaceable because The One with that kind of authority and power does not get so lazy in its exercise to make remakes or use molds. He doesn’t do repeats or remakes or reboots. His business is in the original.

If I walked through the peoples of the earth would I find you twice? If I lined up everyone in all the world would I find someone like you? If I walked tangent to this world and wandered would I meet you again? Would I find you swimming in Venus’s clouds or indulging the lonely curiosity on Mars? If I meandered through the Milky Way and the rest of the galaxies, could I find another like you?

I know you don’t believe me. Cause if you don’t listen hard enough you will drown in the sea of noise around you. You will be buffeted by the waves of insecurity. The currents of misinformation will you drag you below. The torrents of fear will swamp you. All the noise in the world is trying to drown out the song. So put your fingers to your neck. Feel the raw power pouring through your vessels of blood as it blasts the bass drum beat of the melody of the Maker. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. 

By TKH Hamilton


A Tribute to my Mentor

This is a tribute piece to my mentor. It was meant to be in the style of Chaucer. I hope y’all enjoy.

About great men we’re speaking poems of,

I write about a man who shows Christ’s love.
My mentor and a friend through thick and thin,

The man who guided me away from sin.

Yet even better he taught me of grace,

He truly showed me how to seek God’s face.

Four years of Sundays he did give to me

For reason of I am still yet to see.
He truly was a man of God’s own heart.

He heard His voice and left without a start.

Across the sea he went to heed God’s call.

For Manchester he never got to ball;

By English turned away and thus unplanned,

Upon their soil he’d not be let to stand.
Yet though it broke his heart I was quite glad,

For he was the best teacher I had had.

From front to back he knew the Scripture through,

And could in love teach a message true.

So many nights he spent in prayer for us,

So we’d not stumble into hate and cuss.

And though I’d struggle with the sin of lust,

He told me to ask God for help and trust.
Like Timothy who had the good Saint Paul,

Upon my master Greg I could oft call.

By TKH Hamilton 

Penumbra: Shepherd (part three)

The two men shook the rain off their coats as they stepped in. Julia stood up.
“Really have never seen a werewolf taken down with such nerve and finesse.” Said one. 
“I expect nothing less of a Shepherd.” The second said. 
“Who are you?” Julia said at the two men.
“Penumbra ma’am,” the first speaker, the one with dark skin, drew a silver badge from his coat. He placed it in her hand. The image on it was a silver candle on a black iron field. Above it read “Penumbra”. The bottom had a banner reading “Contra Noctes.” 
“Your mother was one of us.” The other spoke. “Your skills would be a useful addition to our organization and cause.”
“Don’t worry.” The first spoke. “You’ll be much better equipped next time.” Julia looked from one to the next. 
“You kill stuff like this?” She asked. “For whom? How?” 
“I’m sure you have a hundred questions,” the first spoke.
“All of which can be answered.”
“All of which will be answered.” The first replied. “Suffice to say we act to defend the populace, children in particular, from the monsters in closets, under beds, etcetera. We are the last line against the darkest night has to offer. We’d like you to join us.” The second man pulled a badge out and held it for her to take. She grabbed it and shook her head. If this was all a dream she’d laugh it off in the morning. “Welcome home Agent Shepherd.”
By TKH Hamilton 

Swam To Death

They’ll think I swam to death

If they cut me open they’d see I had shriveled up

They’d see the poison in my veins

They’d see the toxins in my arteries

My muscles had leaked out poison

They’d think I’d swum to death

They’d think I swam












Until I couldn’t go any longer

I’d hit the wall and gone down




And they’d try to save me

Pull me out

But I’m already gone


But I’m already gone

Try the Defibrillator 

But I’m already gone

The poison in my veins and arteries

It had done the deed

Or so they’ll think

The coroner will cut me open

He’ll look at my liver

He’ll look at my kidneys

That’s it




Total system failure

Swam himself to death

The poison came from

Giving too much

And not getting in return

He burned out when he tried to hard

Then they’d stitch me up and miss everything

I didn’t swim to death

I died of a broken heart

I died from giving and never getting

I didn’t lose the poison of fear in me

The toxin of insecurity built up

And I died of a broken heart

I was doomed long ago

I stepped on the land mine of high school romance and you fell in my arms

It was just a matter of time

Till you stepped away

They’ll think I swam to death

But I really died of a broken heart

By TKH Hamilton 

Where do the ghosts all go

I thought about the pool today
The way they tore it up
Better it’ll be they say
But ask, where do the ghosts all go?
Did she cry when it drained away?
All water from that pool
I know I sure did cry that day
But say, where do the ghosts all go?
They tore apart what had been home
The pool changed with the school
A page was torn from Fremd’s long tome
But say, where do the ghosts all go?
Her friends are all long gone by now
Some to families, some to jobs
The world it does go on somehow
But say, where do the ghosts all go?
So as I think on my last day
To leave this place called Fremd
And go upon my wayward way
I ask, where do the ghosts all go.
By TKH Hamilton

Penumbra: Shepherd (part two)

The beast could only be described as a wolf the size and shape of a man. It’s eyes were bright red and it’s fur was jet black. Saliva dripped from its mouth. Around its body hung a karate gi and a black belt bound his pants to his waist. It lumbered forward at them. It easily vaulted the half wall into the dojang’s main floor. A pink tongue slipped out of the beast’s mouth to lick the black lips.
“Oh little shepherd,” it spoke again growling. “They aren’t paying you enough to keep this tasty morsel from me. Be a good little hired hand and run.” He snapped at the last word. Red shrieked and the beast laughed. Julia almost ran. She almost bolted past the werewolf to the door. Then she heard Red’s weeping. Her muscles tightened and she rose. 
“I won’t leave you.” She said gripping the staff. “I promised no harm on you.” 
“What shepherd?” The beast barked a laugh. “I’ll kill you and her! You have one last chance to run!”
“Run Julia!” shouted red.
“No.” Julia said. Something about holding the staff gave her a reason. “A good shepherd will lay down her life for her sheep.” Jesus had said something like that Julia thought. She didn’t remember where or when, but she was sure it was Jesus. Clark could have said exactly where when and why Jesus had said that. Julia though was glad Clark wasn’t there. Clark seemed like he’d be pretty useless in a fight. She had five minutes until Red’s parents would show up. 
The creature darted forward with a howl. Julia brought the staff into the beast’s eye. She dropped back and smashed it over the head. The stunned beast reeled before she side kicked it. The beast cackled and then shook it’s mane. It paced around and she raised the staff. She bounded on the balls of her feet. Four minutes left. 
The beast charged again. This time it launched a round house kick at her. She blocked with the staff and swung at it with the other end. The crack of ribs filled the air. She smashed it again into the beast’s knee and made it kneel. She swung her staff over her head and brought it down with a shout. The bamboo splintered as she did so. The beast howled in pain and somersaulted backwards. Three minutes. 
Julia gripped the shattered staff in one hand. The splintered end sharp in her hand. The beast this time charged arms wide. She dropped in and stabbed it into the beast’s side. The claws shredded the back of her uniform. She screamed before slamming a knee to drive the staff. She rolled out of the beast’s grasp before it could close tight. She smashed her heel in the beast’s eye and then elbowed it. The beast reeled away. It seemed bigger and uglier, matted with blood and gory fur. Two minutes.
The beast charged and time seemed to turn to syrup. A dozen kicks and punches seemed to flash. The adrenaline charged through Julia’s veins like a train. Her kicks struck and struck. But the beast swung back. She ducked in its blind spot, yet it still managed to strike her. Once in the chest with a punch. She felt the air leave her but the will stayed. A second and third blow had been kicks. She smashed him hard with both legs in a drop kick. The wolf backed up.
“This ends shepherd.” The beast howled at Julia. One minute. 
The beast charged and Julia smashed her heel on it with an axe kick. She gripped the other part of the staff and stabbed the eye of the beast. She placed it in a strangle hold and drove the staff deeper. The beast kicked and then died. The door bell rang again and two sets of feet stepped through. 
“Excellent work. We knew you’d kill it Miss shepherd.”
By TKH Hamilton