The death of a Dreamer

In the graveyard of Gratification
The bones of lazy beggars lie
While bright-eyed Dreamers march bravely through
And never ponder why

Complaining murmurs come from unmarked graves
Surrounded by blades of grass
“We are good intentions that never moved”
“While unbiased time still passed ”

In the grassy blades
That cover graves
Of once bright-eyed dreamers that marched so brave…
An unplanned picnic once occurred

Years ago these Dreamers marched
Carrying gifts in baskets intended for the world.
God given fruitful hopes and dreams
To make his name be heard

Rolled up on their backs were blankets
Knitted from uniquely different strands
Woven from the Dreamers heart
Matched specific to each hand

These bright-eyed Dreamers marched bravely
Hardly ever stopping
Only slowing for rumbling bellies
Or when fatigue came knocking

Contently eager to share their gifts
They quickly ate and used no forks
With gracious and humble hands they held
The stale sustaining bread of work

These Dreamers marched bravely on
Backs loaded with their passions
God given fruitful hopes and dreams
Swinging from their arms

They soon came upon a town
Its name was Gratification
Boldly stating on the welcome sign
“Here nothing’s used in moderation”

Looking for a place to rest
They spotted a grassy field
With achy backs and tired arms
They stopped for a brief sustaining meal

The meticulously knitted blankets
Of passions first were laid
And soon from tattered baskets
Precious contents were displayed

Un-content and tired with only eating
The stale sustaining bread of work
They removed the other contents
And gratifyingly partook

God given fruitful hopes and dreams
Were quickly laid out first
Followed by fermented grapes of goals
That they gulped to quench their thirst

The knitted blankets wove from passions
That were meant for joyful warmth
Were never meant to sit on
So gaping holes began to form

In the grassy field of Gratification
Passions sat so beaten worn and torn
Passions that were never met for sitting on
But to make a cold world warm

They gluttonously gorged themselves
Becoming drunk with wine in hand
Their eyes transformed to foggy glass
As the brightness slowly dimmed

The glassy dim eyed Dreamers
Devoured the gifts they once intended for the world.
And with hands no longer humbled by the bread of work
They clutched their shiny forks

Finally full from feasting
They soon became too obese to move
The once marching bright-eyed Dreamers
Now gluttonously sat confused

As unbiased time still passed
They all forgot why they were marching
They consumed all the dreams and goals they had
But without passionate work it all meant nothing

They began to fight and claw
Over the last scraps of a rotting meal
With hands now accustomed to using forks
The bread of work did not appeal

The once beautifully knitted blankets
Now resembled dirty rags
And the once hardworking humble Dreamers
Now pride fully sat and begged

The grassy picnic spot transforms
As Unbiased Time dances forward fast
Now sits the eternal home of Dreams that died
A place where bones of lazy beggars rest

The ghosts of once marching bright-eyed dreamers
Wander while murmuring complaints
Decaying Hopes haunt in solitude
Roam alone in denial of their fate

Don’t sit on your passions
While feasting on your goals
Passions are never meant for sitting on
But to bring warmth to the cold

You will grow tired and when you do
Stop for a brief sustaining meal
But know that work is all you need
Then resume marching up the hill

Keep your eyes alertly cautious
For grassy fields of Gratification
They are mirages where Dreamers go to die
While they think they’re on vacation

With humble hands stay content
Eat the stale sustaining bread of work
When you die and leave your gifts behind
In heaven use your fork

Be uniquely bold with hardworking hands
Accomplish something most people never do
Mold your passions into something big
Something that will forever outlive you

Posted 1 year ago

 

10 Important things I’ve learned in 25 years

1.) Family is not always biological. Family is who loves you.

2.) Surround yourself around people that do not need you, but want

you around anyway.

3.) Home is not places, it is love.

4.) Be able to count your friends on two hands….but one hand is much better.

5.) Don’t hand out trust randomly, is a precious gift.

6.) Work hard

7.) Don’t complain.

8.) Don’t pity yourself in any situation ever.

9.) Ignoring people is a magical skill.

10.) Happiness is found in uncomfortable places, and cultivated by accepting new challenges.

Posted 1 year ago

 

Lubbock Arts Festival 2013

Here is a video that my friend Ryan filmed and edited overviewing the 2013 Lubbock Arts Festival where I had the privilege of being the featured artist. It was a blast being back home, and I’m already looking forward to next year.

Art Is Liberty from Ryan Voight on Vimeo.

Posted 1 year ago

 

Diary 52 (Ten Years and an Army)

“Use everything Baron, if you’re good at it do it. If you like it, love it. You have too many talents to let em’ go to waste and never forget that.”

That’s what Joyce Batch told me.

That’s what my mom would say.

Last week marked ten years since Joyce left this earth. It’s gone fast, but not a day goes by that I don’t lean on something simple she would say to me.

 

Simplicity is beautiful.

 

I remember looking out the window of our small trailer watching the clouds with my mom.

“Is heaven up there?” I recall asking.

Through a smile she would reply, “Haha yeah heaven is up there.”

“So one day will we be there?”

“Yup one day we will be there.” She would tell me.

Not completely understanding anything about the whole concept of heaven I was always inquisitive about the whole thing. One thing I did know about heaven was that there was supposed to be angels up there, and angels were good,

And angels helped people.

The movie Angels in the Outfield taught me that.

“So if you make it to heaven before me and become an angel do you promise to watch me?” I’d ask.

Joyce’s response was always the same.

Through her smile she would simply say,

“Of course I will.”

But that was a long time ago, so long ago that I’ve almost forgotten those innocent conversations.

However, things like that are good to remember. Conversations like that should never be forgotten.

Sometimes I forget things Joyce said altogether until I need them the most.

She still speaks to me, and through the words she left with me; she continues to watch after me. She continues to nurture.

And all too often her words fight on my behalf.

Maybe that’s why I love words so much?  Maybe that’s why I have fallen madly in love with writing?  Simply because I understand the power that words hold. They transcend time, and in many instances death itself.

Meaningful words live forever. Meaningful words will defend you and keep you safe when their creator is long gone.

And in the moments when you need them the most they are always close. A meaningful word is a armored brave knight riding a black stallion, yielding a shiny sword, and ready to defend you when you question just how brave you are.

My mom left me many meaningful words.

Joyce Batch left me with an army.

 

About three years ago right after I had finished my last collegiate football season I was waiting in the airport in Dallas and an older woman struck up a conversation with me.

She inquired what I did for a living. At this point in time I didn’t have a job so I said, “Well I just graduated from school.”

She then asked, “Well what’s your job?”

“Dang it. I guess I don’t have one.” I thought.

“Well I guess I’m looking for something.” I uncomfortably replied.

“So your unemployed?” She said.

Then it hit me, “Well yeah I guess I am ma’am. I’m unemployed. You could say that. ”

She then asked, “Well then, what exactly do you want to do with your life?”

I sat for a minute before answering.  Then I responded to her and said,

“Well I like playing football so I will be a professional athlete, I like photography so I will be a photographer, I like to write so I’ll be a writer, I like to speak so I will be a speaker, I like to travel so I will be a traveler, and I like helping people so I’ll do that too. And anything else that I find myself become passionate about along the way, Ill do that as well.”

The woman looked at me with a cynical smile before saying something that I will never forget.

This woman looked me straight in the eyes and said,

“Haha that’s not how the real world works son, you cant just do everything that you like to do, or fancy.”

Feeling a bit belittled I unconfidently chuckled and said, “haha maybe you’re right.”

And at that moment an unseen army came to my defense in the form of my mother’s echoing words. With swords violently swinging they cut down the doubt that was spoken, trampling it into pieces with the heavy hooves of their black stallions.  Behind me they stood bravely, and once again I knew that I was not on my own.

In the Dallas airport that day an unseen battle was won.

Last week while traveling back to Pittsburgh I sat in the same airport. I recalled the battle that took place 3 years ago that an army of brave Words had won. I reminisced over the last ten years, as I sketched things out in my notebook that I always keep close.

And once again a random conversation was struck.

While sketching out new ideas for new art while waiting on my plane, an older man in a suit leaned over and asked,

“What is it that you do for a living if you don’t mind me asking?”

And at that moment I had a flashback of appreciation for what God has done for me. At that moment I realized the strength of the army that defends me.

And with an unseen army behind me, I replied.

“Well sir, I like art so I’m an artist, I like to speak to I’m a speaker, I like to travel so I’m a traveler, I like to write to I’m a writer, I like photography so I’m a photographer, I like helping people so I help people, and I do anything else that I feel I will be good at or have a passion for.”

The man nodded his head smiling and said,

“Boy sounds like you’re livin life right!  I’ve been trying to get my sons to have the same attitude. Your momma must be proud.”

“Thank you!” I said.

He then leaned in closer and whispered, “Aren’t you that football player too?”

“Haha yes I do that as well.” I laughingly replied.

“Proud parents! And a proud momma, thats for sure.” He said

“Thank you sir.” I once again replied.

People say that quite often to me, but this time was different. For the first time in quite a while I realized exactly just what Joyce Batch had done for me.

My mom gave me an army, a powerfully brave one. One that is quick to defend, and is as strong as I allow it to be.

“Yeah…. I bet she is…..”  I replied to older gentleman.

10 years ago God called Joyce Batch home. At the time the boy who stared at the clouds imagining angels felt lonely. At the time I felt weak.

“If you get to heaven before me will you watch me?” Is what I would ask,

And now the answer to that question is all to clear.

“Yes of course I will.” I imagine my mom saying.

Joyce Batch left me meaningful words.

She left me a priceless gift.

She gave me something that would live much longer than she would.

It’s been ten years now, and time has flown by. And even though my mother is gone she still watches over me through her words.

Before my mom left this earth she gave me a gift that in turn I can hopefully pass down to others.

Ten years ago Joyce Batch left me with all her words.

Ten years ago my mom  gave me an army.

 

Blessings,

Baron

Posted 2 years ago