Immortalized

 I longed to be great, to leave an unavoidable footprint behind, altering the pathway of the world completely. The constant goal of so many, the beacon so tantalizingly near and yet we slip as our fingertips just begin to brush it. Immortality. The very word promises greatness, a higher level of power.

 The darkness inside me made me aware early on that my days were numbered and feverishly, I sought to weave myself into the fabric of the world. When my thread at last was cut, I wanted no one to be able to pull my memory loose. I dreamed freely, boundlessly roaming across galaxies of possibility and endless words, plucking at them as a master harper plucks golden cords.

 Born for greatness, to be great, speak great unuttered things and to do great and terrible things. The endless ocean of words was wild to me at first but I quickly learned to swim, bending the weaves under my stubborn will. Across parchments now crumbling I wrote my first collected thoughts, shaping and remolding them until their form pleased my eye.

 Like a great collector of butterflies, I captured words out of the endless sea and chained them to countless pages, to display and beautify the world just a little more. Ceaselessly I worked, ever reaching higher for those words just out of view, greater still. Against the clock that haunted my days, I gathered all I could and wrote with sweat and blood.

 I longed to be great and my deepest fear was that my dreams would never be given life, making me the greatest fool to ever live. When the darkness at least overtook my already faint light, I truly thought I had failed, drifting from memory and thought forever.

 For so long I remained a dark nothing, but then, oh glorious day, a reanimation! My words painstakingly collected, molded and set were found, revealing and reviving who I was and am. And then I knew without a doubt, with the greatest satisfaction, that I was not a fool at all: I had become immortal.   

Desert Wind

In the quiet wilderness

With only birds for company,

Stumbling across the sand

As my breath grew short

And then it was

Snatched away by the

Wings of death; falling

And then lying there,

Nothing more than scenery.

A low wind hovering

Across my skeleton, filling

Rotted lungs with life,

A whisper of love,

The voice of the Father

As flesh is remade

And the heart restarted;

Breath of life given

Back, and now redeemed.

In the Garden

In the garden, you are,

And that was once my home

Yet now I’m in the world,

Longing to get back inside.

Lead me back there, Father,

Washed clean of all impurity

Robed in soft, lovely white.

By your feet, I listen

To your wonderful words

And my soul swells joyfully

Until a song bursts forth

As a bird from a cage.

Undeniable, your love is

As you show me a

Leather bound book; my life,

Written by your loving hand.

I hear your gentle call,

My heart beating for you;

Here I am, Father, friend,

Your child to the end.

Forgetfulness is Bliss

 In a panic, I opened my eyes, trying to shake the clammy feeling of being submerged under water. I didn’t recognize where I was or why I was there, though I had the strangest feeling I should. Suddenly, at my side, dark eyes peeked at me, delighted or perhaps simply curious.

 “You’re awake! I can’t believe it!” He said, raking my hand in a familiar way that made me quite uncomfortable. I sat up and inched away from the boy or rather, man, awkwardly retrieving my hand.

 “Who are you?” Only three simple words and yet somehow they knocked the light right out of his eyes and I felt horrible for speaking. The all trees around us swayed slowly in the cool breeze, leaves rustling like a long forgotten symphony.

 “Kathy.” He whispered, its’ significance lost to me in my hazy mind. Though I searched desperately for anything clear, only fleeting shadows appeared in my head. At my lack of response, I could see his heart shatter, this boy man who seemed to know me and yet was nameless.

 “I’m so sorry.” He finally said, sitting down in the dirt beside me. “I should have come back to you sooner.” I remained silent, unsure of everything. “I was a fool! You were right.”

 An image flashed in my mind, another man with an impish grin and something wondrous in his hands. A name well known that just now escaped me. A bargain of some sort, and then darkness that would take away the blazing light.

 My silence did nothing to encourage the one beside me. Moving over so that he faced me, he tenderly looked into my eyes as though trying to search my very soul. “Kathy?” The assurance in his voice now wavered.

 Stiffly, I stood and took a few steps in no particular direction. More images were creeping and flashing in mind, making me dizzy. Patiently, I waited for clarity. One image, eyes that looked at me and then turned away, leaving me behind in the light…the light of truth. Truth that was too much to bare.

 “You.” I said, looking at the pitiful boy on the ground. “I’m this way because of you.”

 He didn’t understand, or perhpaps he was too afraid to admit he did. Though the haze still hung over my memories, my feelings were awake. “I can’t remember…because of you.”

 “Can’t…remember?” His disbelief quickly turned to horror as he looked at the object I suddenly realized I held. A glass bottle with only a single drop of green liquid remaining. “Kathy, you…you didn’t! You went to….him?”

 Him. The man who grinned and promised relief from the burning truth I’d been mercilessly thrown into. Yes, he gave me that precious glass bottle, the key to freedom, to healing from….but I knew not what from. That was the cure.

 The boy had dropped his head into his hands, shoulders hunched as if bearing a great weight. Perhaps he was, bearing the weight that had been taken from me by the green liquid.

 “I…well, I’m not sorry.” I said matter of factly. “Obviously I had to do it. To be driven to a point of such pain that the eraser of the memories was the only solution, well…clearly it was my last hope. I assume you know whatever it is that I’ve forgotten.”

 “Kathy.” The way he said the name, my name, as though he caressed it, treasured it above anything else, I heard it but felt nothing. Stone cold against whatever heat drove his words.

 “I didn’t think…oh Kathy. I thought, in my heart, you’d always be there in the end and…well, I was scared! But I didn’t think you would…choose to forget me.”

 “I knew you then?” Indifference, plain honesty was all I felt and spoke, far more interested in the rest of my memories, which were finally sharpening. I was Kathy. I had a life to get back to.

 “I’ll get you back.” He was chattering, speaking more to himself than me. Standing up, he took my hand once more and gripped it desperately.

 “I should have said this when you did, but I was frightened. A coward. But I’ll say it no; I love you too. And whatever you’ve done, I’ll find a way to bring you back!”

 I knew then, without remembering. “I had loved you.” I said, interrupting his dreams of heroism. “And I told you so, but you ran away.”

 “Yes.” It pained him. “But I’m not running away now. I’ll save you, bring you back and then we can start a new life, together.”

 I pulled my hand from his and touched a steady finger to his lips, silencing him.

 “Why do I need saving?” The question startled him. “The potion saved me. Clearly I was in unbearable pain before and now I’m perfectly well. I feel….” Looking up, I could see in the far distance, through the leaves of the trees that sunlight was just up ahead. “I feel happy. And I think that’s something I haven’t felt in a long time. So I have no desire to be ‘saved’, understand?”

 Slowly, I began to walk through the forest. “I don’t even know your name.” I said, leaving him behind among the swaying trees, leaving the shadow of the forest to enter the light of a new life.

Merry Christmas!

Hello, my dear Readers,
Merry Christmas! Yes, I know I'm a day late. 

 I've been spending my Christmas break here at the school working on staff. It's been a lot of hard work but also a lot of fun and I'm learning a lot of things. I'm working in the kitchen, which has been full of lots of little interesting jobs. While it wasn't my first wish to be doing work over my break, it's really been great getting to know the other students who stayed behind better and we get a lot of awesome food too. The hours are long and yet there's something quite satisfying about going to bed utterly exhausted and knowing that a hundred and sixty guests have been well fed because of my small part in everything. 

 Learning to do everything has been quite an adventure. Besides burning my first batch of toast completely, I regularly seem to burn my fingers everywhere I go, but I haven't dropped anything yet so I suppose it all balances out. 

 About 16 other girls and I are staying in a huge room called "The Zoo", with half walls separating the room into little sections. I was a little concerned when I first heard where I was staying but I'm actually really liking it. It's sort of been like camping, with many good small conversations with different people who I haven't really talked to yet. And thankfully everyone goes to bed at a decent hour, so sleep hasn't been an issue.

 After this week, I have one more week of intense working and then the third week will be a little more relaxed, as there won't be any guests around. Hopefully in that week, I'll have more time to write more poems. I've been getting a lot of new ideas but haven't had time to write. 

Have a wonderful Christmas and new year!

Child of Heaven

You gaze at me with

Child’s eyes, yet I wonder

At all you have seen

Before you came here.

I sing you to sleep

But I know it’s nothing

Like the music you knew.

The meager bread and milk

Does not compare to

The glorious feasts you

Must have had before.

Nothing have I to

Offer that was not yours;

And when you wrap your

Hand around my finger,

I’m overwhelmed with humility.

Seeking Heart

A child of the purest light,

That’s what you called me

But I’m still here in the dark

And it’s so bone chillingly cold.

So many words in my head

That should comfort my soul

But it’s feeling I lack

And so desperately desire.

Such steadfast promises, I

Do believe them, in them,

But my heart beats empty

As the sun sets once more.

Broken; perhaps it’s been given

But seeps from my body

Before it can reach my heart

To change my view of you.

This is my deepest cry,

What my heart beats after;

As a young child asks, Father,

Let my heart know your love.

The Dream

We are all sleepers

In a fantastic dreamscape

World where everything happens.

As any dream, it shifts,

Sometimes dark and fearful,

Shattered light underfoot

And pain is so real.

Other times, the dream

Is bright, with butterfly

Colored moments, sweet laughter

Lacing the memories, golden

Warmth surrounding hearts.

Slow dances as twilight

Streaks the sky or

Running among bee fields

In a blurred rush,

Tears refilling the sea

And words reaffirming love.

Yet all dreams end

And someday, you will

Wake us and all we’ll see

Is your loving face;

The dream will be ended

And endless reality will begin.

It Will Pass

The storm’s been raging for some time

And I stood against the wind for awhile

But now I’m too weak, so I’ll just sit down

And wait for the fearful storm to pass.

I don’t sit alone amidst the tempest

Though at times my friend is not seen;

His whispered comforts cut through the

Wind and anchor my heart firmly to His love.

Bits of branches and rocks strike relentlessly

And the pain becomes a dull ache, never ending

But though I would rather be healed completely,

A daily binding of wounds is just as good.

Though the sky is dark, clouds crowding in,

I stand upon the promise of coming spring

And though the earth right now is ravaged,

I have faith that one day this storm will pass.

Anamnesis of Man

Brown leaves skittered across my path,

Mere ghosts of what they had once been

And as I crossed the grey wasteland,

My heart began to sink with the setting sun.

I sought to find an answer that I had no question for,

And so, being restless, traversed the great outdoors.

The road was often tread and

I knew it all too well to bother treading slowly,

But as I crossed the bridge so cold,

The waters of the ever stubborn river called to me

And I saw a footpath, before unseen,

Surely made by the faeries.

The blood within me, blood of warriors long ago,

Stirred and I left the road behind,

Meandering down the faery path

Beside the lazy brown waters.

Bubbling and foaming in the crevices,

Gently rolling over intrusive stones,

The waters babbled their nonsense,

As they always had, and I wondered

What secrets they knew,

What they had been silent witness to,

And my heart beat a single throb of longing;

If only I knew how to listen as my ancestors had,

Before the world grew so loud.

Beneath the murky depths lay mossy figures,

Forgotten and not at all mourned,

The trees who hadn’t been strong enough and

Could only gaze at the ever changing sky,

The sky they could no longer reach

Up to with patient, graceful limbs

And still, they did not mourn for

Themselves as I did; they shed not one tear

While I had shed enough tears to refill the river,

Should it ever dry up.

Pondering, I continued down the faery path,

Sensing the sacredness that I dared to invade,

Yet I had no ill intent and perhaps this place knew,

For it soon felt like returning home.

Undefined and yet my feet did not falter

In finding a foothold along the path

Among the trees still tall, steadily waving

In the chilling breeze, like skeletons.

Yet they were alive in the desolate cold

And remained hopeful of Spring’s return.

Melancholy filled me as I saw that even

The trees were more at peace than I

But I continued on, sunken heart still

Blindly believing the sun would rise again.

And there, a monument long

Forgotten yet still proclaiming in defiance

Though the rest of the place lay in ruins

And was overrun with mossy decay.

What warrior set this here, I wondered,

But the river held its’ knowledge close

And the monument made no reply,

Though I knew it had some purpose.

Yet that was it, I saw, circling

Around the crumbling sculpture.

For all that Man did, Time would patiently

Wait and then erase, without fanfare,

Relentless, for Time knew that Man is a

Brief little creature, so desperate to not be forgotten;

But somehow, the monument of remembrance,

Once alive, is now nothing more

Than cold moss covered stones on the verge

Of falling into secretive waters

Where obscurity would then rule,

Defying the valiant, yet foolhardy attempt.

Stones and carved letters would fade,

Bones decaying even faster

And how much effort wasted then,

When all that time could

Have been spent making memories,

Planting oneself in others

So that even after death, one lives on

Every time one speaks or thinks of you;

And good, fond memories, not known

For bitterness or regretful sighs.

Full circle as I reached the bridge again,

Though it was not so cold now.

My heart had found its’ reply; and now,

To fall into the dark chasm of despair

Or be renewed in purpose of soul,

To make the most of every fleeting moment?

Wash My Feet

I have walked a long way

Through mud created by rains

Of pain and my own tears,

Through dreams fallen like leaves

Now decomposing on the ground

Among selfish desires now slain.

A long road of glass shards

And heart fragments left behind,

My bare feet torn and bleeding

As I reach the room, exhausted.

The floor of grace so clean

I hardly dare to touch it,

Yet you beckoned me forward,

A pure white towel in hand.

Sitting down in forgiveness, I see

Your intention; unbelievable, humble

And I know I don’t deserve it.

My tears of relief and repentance

Match your sweet tears of love

As you take my unclean foot

And wash away the stubborn muck,

Bring to light the sweetest purity

That only your could reveal.

Wings of Faith

I have been brought so low,

Weighed down in a dark swamp,

Slowly sinking the more I struggle.

My feelings, chaining my wrists

And ankles; trapped by pain

Of the shattered heart.

Yet feelings should not guide

Me, for they are fickle,

Betraying in a heartbeat,

So weak under the weight

Of my sorrows; drowning,

Dragged me down to death.

But I have wings of

Another kind, firmly on my

Back, wings of faith to

Lift me above all the

Darkness, self centered seeking,

So I can see with new

Eyes, given by the wing

Maker, the healer of hearts.

From the ashes of despair

I will rise with this

Gift, the wings of faith.

Trinity

Love, a relationship complete

In itself, utterly whole

Within each other; Trinity.

Needless, full and remaining so,

Yet there begins a new

Element; extended to, the

Joy of sharing pure love

To a lowly, humble creation,

A mystery so lovely,

Such overwhelming generosity

Certainly not deserved, yet

Given and it is good.

We Are Beaten

 So many great plans for the future, the dreams, the orders, led by a great commission to be strong and bold. Called to be a loud voice, with the clarion call into the darkness, a soldier bravely traversing the minefield to save the fallen. This, the great purpose, is it not? Filled with power, what could hinder?

 Yet the world was colder than we thought and we didn’t pack for the occasion. The world was darker than we could ever have dreamed and we didn’t have enough matches. The world was full of words harsher than we’d ever heard before, cat-o-nine tails lashed across the tender heart. And though all our plans were grand, we did not account for how fragile the flesh is; how easily it scars.

 All our great dream were made of paper and when the rain began to fall, the ink bled and made something beautiful turn ugly. The battlefield was a lot more scary and it took all our remaining strength to drag our wounded bodies through the mud to the fringes. There, in the surrounding woods, we lay, broken in the relentless rains.

 While the other soldiers plod onward, banners raised high and their spirits overflowing with hope, we can only watch, the light in our eyes weakening. TO breathe, let alone fight, is simply too much. Some soldiers pass by, speaking of lack of faith, of simply needing to stand up and continue on. Can’t you see we’re too beaten to move? Can’t you see the sickness in our hearts, creeping out to every cell?

 For this, were we not created? And yet we lie still, scars twisting along our trembling bodies and we feel so useless. And then the Great Commander walks by and looks at our fallen forms. Yet he doesn’t yell, doesn’t chide us for disbelief or lack of effort; no, his eyes are filled with tears. Then, to our astonishment, he lies down next to us, in the rain, and we wait in silence together for the healing to begin.

Book List: November

Read:

1. Moonraker

2. The Wind in the Willows

3. The Princess and the Goblin

4. Thunderball

5. The Prayer of Jabez for Teens

6. Warm Bodies

7. Speaker for the Dead

8. Celtic Fairy Tales

9. For Your Eyes Only

Bought:

1. The Prayer of Jabez for Teens 

2. River of Destiny 

3. Warm Bodies 

4. Northern Lights 

5. Diamonds Are Forever 

6. Celtic Britain 

7. A Dance with Dragons 

8. Jane Eyre

Dreaming

As the sun fell, darkness rising up,

I lay my head down and dreamed;

Great marvels, dead memories given life,

New and fresh in the dreamscape.

A once friend friends again laughter

Of a weeper ringing in my ears

As a child unborn asked me to dance.

Then I was a child, unmarked by time

With flesh of soft butterfly dust,

Fragile to the dearest touch of love

So that love was kept at bay.

Onward in places unknown, yet familiar

Through nonsense feelings and colors bright

In kaleidoscopic, mismatching ways; a

Journey through my deepest, unseen soul.

Fire breathing leviathan, leather wings

Beating back my peace in hopes of panic,

Teeth gleaming an eerie blue, calling me

To shrinking, trembling despair, transforming

And then I was a lamb in your arms,

The noise of all else fading away.

Broom Tree

The broom tree was my last resort,

A place so alone in the wilderness

Without water or good, completely alone

As vultures wheeled above, waiting for

My last breath. You aren’t seen either

And though I followed your words,

The despair has still taken a hold of

My weak heart and I am finished.

The darkness inside is too vile to

Allow you near and I just want to

Doe, so don’t bother finding me in the

Harsh, desert wasteland. No, why are

You coming out here, walking my way?

A raven with food, stream softly

Winding near me, gifts I take grudgingly;

I’m still sick and broken, you know.

You’d best leave me in my shame.

No, why are you still here, as

I cry a thousand tears and more,

Yet still, you wait, watching over me.

Is there hope? Can my feet leave

This place to the cave where

We will meet? DO you truly want

Me, waiting until I am not full

Of my despairing, selfish thoughts?

Will I leave this place alive?

The Choice

 In the wasteland, among the tribes of dogs, she was the wolf, all alone in the crowds. Some thought she was alone by choice of the others but the truth was, the choice was ultimately hers and she reveled in it. Solitude was her sweet sister, days on end without a word spoken. Isolated by choice.

 Yet was it always her choice? Or was the source of her choices now spawned from the need to survive in the past? To fit in, she tried so hard to be with them, of them, one of them and yet time and again she was slammed into the wall until her bones were shattered and she withdrew.

 A choice, to be alone, but is it a choice when there’s only one way? Acceptance is for others, to be as they are and so she stopped seeking the dream. It became her new dream, new identity and there was no going back. So now it was her choice, a path of her own without friend to lift from the falls. Tears cried on starless nights fall unchecked and unseen and by morning, have made no impact to the world.

 Is it her choice to be alone? It is now, but still, buried somewhere deep within the mausoleum of her soul lies that yearning hope to be called out to, asked to join the group. Perhaps one day, a little girl sitting on a bench by herself will be approached, hands out; “Come play with us.”

Salt and Light

 There among the sugar sit salt grains looking for all the world like the white crystals it fraternizes with. So different, yet to the eye, who can tell? The salt should make a difference, preserving the breaking, cracking world, bandaging the wounds so deep and holding on to the disintegrating culture. Yet indistinguishable, it combines into the melting pot of society. Where is the different? Why does the rot continue on, unpreserved by our lackluster efforts?

 Flavoring a grey bland existence, parching the soul so it yearns for liquid pure and precious. Promises kept, keepers of the way not sweet, salt is, gentle to the hard hearted weepers and life giving to even the most dead soul, reviving from the depths of the earth.

 And in the starless night when questions pummel the mind, cloudy skies of pain overhead, even the smallest struck match makes a difference. Warmth, such sweet comfort in a night so cold, a difference in a consistent darkness. Fog is heavy and deadly among the rocks in the sea but a beam cutting through can become a lifeline back to safety.

 Every child knows that the monsters under the bed won’t attack if the lights are on, so can’t we be the permanent night light? Light to bring comfort when shadows dance and light to chase the hungry fears from the whimpering infant. Ringing across the glen revealing truth; monsters are only rocks and trees in the wind.

 In the world dark and bland should both salt and light be present and we are those. Different to make a difference to change the structure and the skeleton of society. Don’t let the table be left empty so that the meal be consumed untasted and to eat in the dark is not advised either. Flip the light switch on and please pass the salt.

Rising Waters

“Where are you”, you who once said

Be still, all is well and the storm fell

Silent then, but this is now and the

Clouds are crowding across the skyscape

Of my world; “where are you” now?

Now, as the rain starts to fall, turning

Ashes into un-treadable mud, my heart

Runs in rivulets like candle wax till

It’s misshapen and cold, breathing its

Last. Heaven’s love is seen no more,

Even the memory battered and bitter now;

“where are you?” The floods rise, crushing

My existence and I try so hard to swim

But my brokenness makes me sink down

Where Life is only a word, and it’s all

I can do, one last cry out to you

As I let go of my very self, sightless,

Heart stops with a final sigh, “where…

Are you?”

Bursting through the waters, a great power

And strong arms enveloping my soul

As life returns to my empty insides,

And as a hand waves over my eyes

So sight so sweet is restored,

I see Love, lighter than all darkness,

And the dearest whisper, “Here I am.”

Wasteland

(I'll be reading this one at an open mic night at my school)

Across the icy wasteland, wind whistles

In low tones, tearing bits of warmth from

My weary walking soul. Softly but surely

I tread through frozen fields, trembling

With cold so cruel, a constant all my days

As I journey across the land. A lonely place,

This is, memories of merrier times my sweet

Comfort when the storm clouds crowd above.

Still, well worn memories lose their sharpness

And then I truly am alone, the crunch

Of crackling ice beneath my feet the

Only sound in this, a dark bleak world.

For so far, I traveled, but even the strongest

Soldier fails, after a time, and I stumbled,

Slipped, and suddenly I knew I was lost,

Limbs broken, day growing later and night

Creeping upon me; I was finished, a corpse

Growing colder, alone on the road in the dark.

I hadn’t imagined that someone would save me,

See me fall and fail, then give up all hope;

Yet in the darkness, lamp lifted high, he

Knelt beside me; “Dear one. I am here.”

As the wind whistled around us, he picked

Up my pitiful form and carried me across

The final stretch, to safety and warmth.

So it was there in that terrible darkness

That I met the most faithful friend.

Seed in the Ground

 The seed has potential for greatness. It sat in a bag with other seeds, ready for new life, for exciting things. Brought out into the light, the seed smiled. Now life would truly begin, with joy. But then the seed was put in the ground, in a hole so tight, so cold and dark. The seed was so lost, so confused and hurt by what had happened.

 “This isn’t fair! It’s a mistake! Is my life to end before it begins?”

“Yes.” The darkness whispered.

  Life that was green began to die in the ground, hope and dreams rotting away. The seed called out, and then was still. But then…

 Then came new life!

 Then the seed was reborn, bursting through the soil triumphantly, full of hope and joy. There was always a great plan, the seed had never to fear. Death was merely a preparation for growth and new glorious, unimaginable things.

Failing Forward

Once again over rocks, I’ve stumbled

And fallen hard upon the ground, my journey

Stopped and I cry out in frustration, I

Messed up, failed again and let you down

And the pain of disappointing you, heavy

On my heart, fears rushing into my mind

And I’m so sorry, echoing in the valley,

Then back again to mock me, failure.

But while I may have failed again, this

Failure is a lesson, progress in myself

Despite the appearance of falling behind.

I’ve failed but not lost, failing forward

Time and again until I finally reach the end.

Not Today

I’m sorry but I can’t

Come out and play with you,

Not today and not ever

Because I’m not myself now.

You were a good playmate,

Well, I used to think

So, anyway, but not now

Because, you see, I’m not

You anymore! I’m a new

Creation and my playground

Is out in the light,

So I’m sorry, old self

But I can’t play today.

No Alms

All I asked was for alms,

To fill my belly one more day,

Hope for minimal survival weakening

And this is all there is.

Day after mind numbing day,

I sit here, passed by the

Healthy, strong and perfect,

Useful while I am useless.

I asked for no great

Thing, doubtful even of that,

As they stopped before me.

And sure enough, no alms;

Why do I drag myself

Here all for nothing, weak

Hope beating fainter, dying.

“No alms. But rise up,

And walk!” The impossible,

I would never ask for,

And yet it was given,

Mercy overcoming small dreams

And I began to walk.

Raised From The Dead

With claws, an iron grip around my soul,

The demons of my fears and sins giggle

As they drag me to towards the pit of darkness.

I long to struggle, yet I know I deserve

To be lost forever, trapped and chained down

Against a stone cold slab in fiery dampness;

That is my well deserving fate and I resign.

In my grave, new home of my heart, one

Tear of hopelessness and pain down my face

And then I let go because it is finished.

Except it’s not, for there, in blazing glory

With eyes so overwhelmingly kind, hands out

To pull me from the mire I’ve been tossed into.

“You are mine.” With finality, no room to argue

And from darkness I’m drawn into pure light,

Glorious light so cleansing and redeeming

Chains broken by his strong hands, joyfully

Twirling me around, laughter of sweet delight.

Redeeming love so undeserved and new life

Changing me into the most beautiful child.

Prelude

Once in darkness, my heart did lie

Where chains drew close so I might die,

And though I knew the light would heal,

The pain inside was just so real.

To show my wounds and bring to light,

That right there was half the fight

And only then could I break free

From clever lies that held onto me.

The voice of truth, it held my heart

As the darkness ripped me apart;

Then truth replaced my broken pride

And now I have no need to hide.

My heart and soul are now unchained,

The glory of God in me proclaimed

And in the light I will now tread;

The darkness in me is finally dead.

Control in All

Even when the powers of darkness

Seem to have everything in their claws;

When a close companion cheaply betrays

And evening falls swifter than a stone,

Even then is power in His hands.

When powers of the teachers twists

And rulers plot for their own gain,

As the gates of hell open up

To put a triumphant end to good,

Even so, He was fully in control.

And now, in my own dark times,

Can I not reply on His complete control?

Tempus Fugit

We believe the clock will never stop

Or the notebook to always be full,

The pen to always bleed new ink,

Lazy summer days to follow another.

Like babies in blanket warm

Without care or fear of the rain,

Laughter being our non-sustaining bread,

Soft, careless kisses our unfulfilling wine.

But all those promises grow cold

As new lines are drawn by time

And eyes bright are dimmed down

As the travelling sun begins to set.

So for our tick-tocking time here

To not be reliant only on sunbeams,

Let us hold hands, never let go

And grow old with grace and joy.

Galaxy of Longing

 Oh, such things in this wide world, a starscape of wishes, hopes and twinkling dreams. My heart leaps and falls with the changing tides and with it, my desires dear and memories, fading even as I breathe. A universe apart, are we, weak willed to speak in the silence and though we both know, we are not brave.

 The heart pulls, tugs at things light years from this small place, pretty things so precious and despite its’ force, gravity makes dreams fall. The sun was too hot to sojourn upon and with sorrow, we could not meet there. I sent you a stardust telegram instead, in the hollow hope of reaching you before the moon had time to wan.

 Across the expanses, every passing ring a reminder of what was lost and little by little, the scorching beams of sunlight melts even the ice on Pluto. Mu hands reach out to touch the last lonely rays as they fade away forever and still, the heart longs. In a murky nebula where you are not found, still believing you will be found, in time, for time is all I have in this wide world.

 Pulsing light, one of who knows how many billions, somehow your light will match mine and hearts will become fused together until no force on earth or in space can re-establish the separate selves. So I will swim slowly across this galaxy of longing and hope we’ll one day land on the same dying star, and we will finally see the dawn of a new delightful dream.

Beyond the Glass

The pitter patter against

The cold window pane was

A steady beat as I cried

At the cruelty of life.

With words so swift,

My fragile world of glass

Was shattered beyond repair

And now I sit among

The countless shards.

Slowly down the glass,

I watch rain droplets

Reflect my streaming tears,

Falling one by one

Adding to my inner despair.

But there is a voice

Calling to me from beyond

The cold, spattered glass.

A call to shift my

Nearsighted gaze, to

See past the dripping

Drops, past the sorrow,

And through the window.

Suddenly revealed to me

Is a glorious sight;

Green shoots rising from

The ashy ground, new

Life proclaiming a mystery

So breathtakingly wondrous.

So, despite the cold rain,

I focus, with sweet grace,

On the glorious plan

That lies beyond the glass,

And one day, the rain

Will forever cease to fall.