Ancient Youth

Hey guys! This is a more short-and-sweet piece I wrote at the beach. I hope you enjoy it. (Also what do you like most about the beach?)

You make me feel naive. Your water splashes my face like it’s egging me on, while the tide drifts towards me like a sleepy puppy. It’s like every time I look at you I’m filled with the joy of a youthful friendship. Occasionally, the waves rush like children at the end of a school day; leaping towards their friends with the vivacity of childhood.

There is beauty in your youth. You have a vigour very few can replicate. It fuels me as I scale the waves. A tidal wave of emotions encompasses me and I am brand new, first day on the job, reborn onto the smooth complex beaches that are all you.

When night falls, you are a city of light. The stars grace your surface with the purity of boyhood. Even though to me you’re infinite, you approach life with a good nature and playfulness that is unbridled by age. You are pure, beautiful, and endless. The moon reflects on your cobalt sea with hope. It envisions the future, and the future is extraordinary.

Darkened skies welcome friendly faces; buddies unite around bonfires by your shore. They relate stories jovially, laughing like youngsters at a 7th birthday party. When the sun arises, you become the most vibrant and ingenuous creature I’ve ever laid eyes upon. You emit the secrets of youth – ancient youth.

© C. Churchill, 2017


Hey guys! I thought I’d write this one following the whole nature/summer theme. Enjoy!

I heard a whisper

An inkling

Something out in the distance

Pulling me



Out of the dark


The ocean



Its silver conscience begging

“Take the board”

“Seize the waves”


Do something for yourself


I heard them whispering

She can’t

She won’t


Victory? Implausible

They couldn’t believe


Yet I could




Into the dark

A different dark from before


Regaining balance

Tearing through the blockage


Through the waves

Every time

Resurfacing with more passion

Every time

Only a slight letdown

I could do it


She can’t

She won’t

Hopeless, they said

Victory? Implausible

She isn’t capable





What if I don’t?


What if I can’t?

But I might






Board parallel to the sand

Finding solace in the water







Out of the dark;

Into the waves



© C. Churchill, 2017


Hey guys! Today I wanted to share with you a poem I wrote earlier this week. It’s more or less a reflection of the crazy amount of biking I’ve been doing recently. Enjoy!

The highway whips past me in a desperate plight to keep on track

My mount rushes beyond trail-side foliage like a dire wolf hunting its prey

It reaches incredible speeds not because it wants to, but out of necessity

Because if it didn’t, if it faltered

It would lose momentum and hurl onto the asphalt in a graceless heap that should have known better to begin with


At some point


It did


But those days are gone and I’m hanging onto the handlebars hoping my chain will stay intact

That I won’t tumble into traffic like a lame doe

And my mind will remain untouched by the murky pavement


Here I am in a delicate tangle between the road and my two-wheeler

Where my derailleur could do its namesake to my life


It won’t


Because I keep my brain on the trails

And my desperate track keeps my head off the highway

© C. Churchill, 2017

Memento Mori

Hey guys! Welcome to Deceptively Honest. On this blog, my goal is to share and improve my written compositions. I’d like to start off with one of my recent works, a mystical piece titled Memento Mori.

Imagine adventuring along a rocky shore. Your hair is blown back, your hopes are high, and the sun is kissing your skin as if you’re in a 1980s music video. The shoreline is an illustrious mix of vibrant ceruleans, sandy hues, and mighty rock formations. Seashells and seaglass form majestic constellations on the mottled shore. Your mind, soul, and body are reaching, outstretched, towards nirvana. That’s where I met her.

She was a bohemian adventurer. Her caramel skin hinted at Spanish descent, and her hazel eyes held secrets of another realm. She carried herself with the wisdom of glorious pharaohs, alluring goddesses, and ancient philosophers. Her carriage suggested knowledge far beyond her meager thirty-seven years.

“Too bad this doesn’t last forever.” Startled, I glanced up to notice her profound eyes staring expectantly. “What do you mean?” I asked her. She pushed back her mahogany dreadlocks in reflection. “See, none of this stays the same,” she said, gesturing at the shore. “The ocean, the tide, the sand… One day, Man will get the best of it.” She stood up, her lavender sundress billowing in the wind. “Everything dies eventually.”

Twisted locks cascading down her back, she drifted toward the sea. Hesitantly, I followed. Reaching the edge of the water, she extended her arms skyward, like a conductor at the beginning of Beethoven’s 5th symphony. She spread them outwards, stirring vast circles. Then, she bent down and splashed water on my unexpecting face. “Hey! What was that for?!” I exclaimed. “Do you feel it?” she asked. “Feel what?” I inquired. She exhaled a meditative pause. “The cold” she said. “Feel the chill of the water spirits; they’re bitter, longing. They make you taste the wind’s chagrin. That in itself is beautiful.” I was beginning to think she was nuts.

She stretched her hand to meet mine. For a moment I expected us to join hands in prayer. I realized then she held a card. It appeared to be some kind of tarot. A skeletal figure was printed on its surface. “Death?” I asked. “No. Change,” she corrected. “In tarot, Death is change.” I heard her breathe deeply, staring out at the waves. “Death is what lets us begin anew. Without it, life would be pointless.” She looked at me again, like she understood my past, present, and future. “Without fearing death, without experiencing change, we would simply be passionless puppets praying for sunlight.”

“None of this stays the same. Treasure it, but let it pass when it does. Memento Mori.” At that, she departed, and I sat pondering, surveying the azure waves, celestial seashells around me.

© C. Churchill, 2017