In Lover's Arms

In lover's arms my head I'll lay
on many a long and lovely day.
In lover's arms my head I'll lay
and watch the sunlight fade away.

Within my arms her head she'll lie
with a soft contented sigh.
Within my arms her head she'll lie
as the sun fades from the sky.

In lover's hands my fingers knot
to keep him close in touch and thought.
In lover's hands my fingers knot
so that I will lose him not.

Within my hands her fingers grip
to keep me close beside her hip.
Within my hands her fingers grip
so from her my love won't slip.

On lover's lips my kiss I'll place
On my lips her kiss she'll place
so our love our hearts must face.

Forever and for Always,
Frankie Boehm

All to You

Every word on every page,
everything I'd ever say,
everything I'd freely give,
if with you my love could live.

Every breath and every word,
every time and every turn,
everything I'd freely give,
if with you my love could live.

Every month and every year,
every time and every cheer,
everything I'd freely give,
if with you my love would live.

Everything to you I'd give,
if with you my love could live.
Everything I'd give to you,
if you'd say you love me too.

Forever and for always,
Frankie Boehm

The Merciful Gallows (Response to Crucible assignment)

The light blares, as they lead me to the platform. My feet drag behind me: lead in my shoes, and I see the rope. I see every twist and braid, every thread. I see the knot. I see the gallows. The executioner stands silently, watching me approach, his hands propped casually on the lever that will soon cause my death. The crowd jeers as I step upon the stage. Some throw rocks. Others throw words. I’m not sure which hurt worse. I see them all, everyone I’ve ever known: everyone I grew up with. They hate me. The guard’s hand pushes sternly into my back, forcing me, step-by-step, into the noose. I feel it tighten around my neck, making it difficult to breathe. That, however, will cease to be a problem very soon. The executioner begins to slip a satin bag over my head. I move to stop him, but my shackles restrain my hands.

“No,” I hear myself say, my voice raspy from days in my dusty prison cell. “I want them to look into my eyes as I die. I want them to know what they’ve done.”

The executioner says nothing. He simply shrugs and steps away, stuffing the bag into his pocket. When he reaches the lever, he reads the charges against me and pulls.

The trap door under me snaps open, dropping me downward at a speed meant to break the span of the victim. I’m not so lucky. My body jerks as the rope ends. My eyes burn. I don’t move. I don’t kick. I don’t scream. I don’t give them that pleasure. Instead, I meet their eyes in turn, burning my dying moment into their memories forever. I lose my peripheral vision as clouds begin to creep into my vision, moving rapidly across my field of view. I feel impossibly heavy, hanging from an unusually light head. My palms itch, but I can’t scratch them. My wrists ache, but I can’t rub them. My heart breaks, but I can’t save it. It’s funny how my last desires are so trivial, so…unimportant. Laughter roars from my chest, rocking me to and fro as I expend the last of my oxygen. The audience looks uncomfortable. Some even avert their eyes to my display. My air runs out, but I still laugh. No sound is made, but my body still laughs. I remain this way for the next three minutes until finally, mercifully, I die.

Graphite Tears

Graphite Tears


From the front, I see the room,
every desk and bag and tack.
From the front, I see the kid.
I see the kid in back.

I see the way his hair falls down,
to hide his face and eyes.
I see the way his hair falls down.
This view I do despise.

From the front, I watch him as,
he sheds his graphite tears.
From the front, I watch him as,
his work of art appears.

From the front, I watch him change,
now that he's found his heart.
From the front, I watch him change,
now that he's found his part.

From the front, I see myself.
I see my graphite tears.
From the front, I see myself,
within those graphite tears.


Forever and For always
Frankie Boehm

Living with Scars

Scars can be seen as a trophy or a vice or a shame, but they're always seen. Scars aren't always physical either. Sometimes they come from the constant verbal abuse of those around us. A visible scar can be a painful thing to bear.
In "Cut", the main character Callie cuts herself, and everytime she does she gains a new scar. She doesn't realize that these scars will be unsightly until she thinks about wearing a ball gown. It was then that she realized the damage she had done.
I know what it's like to live with scars. After a bicycle accident, I was left with a scar on my upper lip, and even though it was shaped like a rolorcoaster, it was never quite as fun. After a week at home to recover, I went back to school. Literally the DAY I returned, I was hit with wave after wave of ridicule. Some people would make fun of the sticthes or the swollen lip. Others, would simply make fun of the incident in and of its self. They never realized that they were leaving permanent marks on my self-esteem.
About a year after the fact, I made my biggest change... I found my church. I had been thinking about the accident, about how it could've proven faithfull, while I was walking one wednesday night. A few blocks from my house, I saw my friend Carisa. She was outside of her church after a youth service. She invited me to start coming to her church.
A year has gone by since this event, and I'm still at the same church. I've accepted God and become a full time attender. About six months after joining, I applied for the student ministry team. I now help people through their problems, but I never could've done it without my scar. As it stands, I wouldn't change a thing.