By A Withered Plant

 Have I no right as one chosen to be saved? I was special, a great man chosen for great deeds. Yet to filth, I was sent, to the murderers of my ancestors. Stories passed down from dying grandfathers to starving children about deeds so vile done by Them. The slaughterers of my grandmother and sisters, to Them I was sent.

 They deserved to die a thousand times over, not be given words of peace. They were my enemies. Would any sane man travel for months through dangerous climes into the seat of depravity, where death was the most likely outcome? I was noble, above the darkness; how could I let myself be tainted?

 I wanted justice for the evil done against us! I wanted revenge, an entire nation burned by fire from the mighty heavens. Yet I was sent to bring forgiveness; utterly incomprehensible.

 And why should I suffer so, burning within with the sorrow of my people and the all consuming anger? It isn’t fair! I who remained pure, treated so unjustly, driven to desire death. They do not deserve grace. I do, by the blood that runs in my veins.

 But why, then, would I go through such things? Through a supernatural storm, then eaten by a vile beast of the sea but not finished, and though I then repented and did my duty, They were still not destroyed, as they so deserved. No, They repented and grace was poured upon them! Now they rejoice in their redeemed city while I rot all day in the sun by a withered plant.

 But now night falls and I…I see it now. As the night sky opens up, the depths of the starry expanse, and the wind turns from warm to cold, I see. Overwhelmed by the greatness, the magnitude of the universe and the Creator, I see how horribly small and meaningless my anger is. I see what a fool I’ve been, a selfish, self-righteous fool. I saw nothing beyond my bitter and angry self. Perhaps it is time to leave the withered plant and truly repent.

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.

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?

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.

Drinking Seawater

So many fools drinking seawater,

Eyes wider than their brain space.

Yes, there’s an ocean of water

To fill your empty gut, quench thirst;

You think yourself so rich.

Yet no matter how you gain,

Consuming more and more still,

Bursting but hungry for more;

It will never be enough.

Noses turned up at a small

Pool of precious fresh water,

For the quantity is too meager.

Don’t you know that seawater

Only makes you more thirsty? 

Wild Fire

For so long, only dry kindling

Resting inside, uselessly doing nothing.

Yet it took only a small spark,

Alive and full of potential, to

Begin something great, a wild fire

To burn through the dross and

Bring forth the light of hope,

Life given for a purpose.

Passion began and let rampant

Across the land, fire bright

In the eyes of the once blind

Cripples who now dance with joy.

Spread fire across the dry land

So it may be revitalized

And prepared for something great.

Hands of a Murderer

The sticky blood covered my pale hands,

And though I washed them time and again,

The stains of what I had done remained.

Echoes of our cries, the mob so frenzied,

Determined for blood to be spilled,

Though we did not quite understand why,

Oh, I can’t stop hearing my own voice.

That night is forever burned into my mind,

Torches, dogs skulking among our feet

And the rising hunger of our dark hearts,

All now bringing me to my knees, in tears.

His words ring in my mind now, cutting

Deeply, for the love and gentleness in them

Puts my previous anger to utter shame.

But that shame has come too late,

And my endless tears won’t revive him.

I will always be haunted by my sin,

Having slaughtered the purest lamb,

My ears and heart having been stone cold

But not now; now broken and so sorry.

Can there be any way for a murderer

To be forgiven, blood scrubbed away?

Best Version

I know you see darkness,

The vile mess that bogs you down,

And in despair, you fall, broken.

I know of your struggles

And the scars you try to hide.

You do not see the beauty

Inside that I know is there.

You fear living in my light,

Lest your rotten heart be revealed.

But while you see the outside,

I see the best version of you,

The perfect sculpture underneath,

One that only I can find.

Let me chip away at your heart

To reveal the glorious plan

That I have for your life.

Wine and Bread

Grapes are sweet, in their way,

Together in community all as one,

None so different from each other.

Solid, well put together without blemish,

Perfection thought to have been reached.

Yet for there to be sweet wine,

Bread broken to feed the others,

Perfection must be crushed beyond any

Recognition, willingly walking into the vat

Where all self will be squeezed

Out to transform sweet into sweeter,

Meshed together, pain bringing change

From the core to the flesh.

Bread must be broken to be eaten,

Laid upon the table of sacrifice,

Emptied time and again but then

Refilled; the beauty of being broken.

Hold Me

The rain falls hard upon the ground

And though I try, you are not found.

I’m on my knees, heart crying out!

Please, I beg you, fend off my doubt.

The sky above is clouded grey,

So darkness surrounds me on my way.

“Here I am!” My deepest cry.

Hold me up, don’t let me die.

Alone, my failures will return,

And every night my eyes will burn.

Blindly reaching out to you;

Other friends are now so few.

And in the storm you shall appear,

Advancing upon my every fear.

You take my hand and wipe my face

And present before me living Grace.

And though the rain still soaks the land,

Together we walk, hand in strong hand.

Stain of Scarlet

The stain of scarlet blood
began at the hands and
spread as time went by.
Blemishing forgotten beauty,
leaving the ink stain sign,
a symbol of the inner
darkness that each of us had.
Red so blazingly bright,
so all would see it
and be ashamed to be seen,
for a mask only lasts
till the light shines through
to reveal the collection of lies.
Scarlet skin permanently stained,
turning more red with every
rough brushed scrubbing attempt.
Yet there is one way
for the stain to be scoured,
but not by desperate trying
and a constant washing.
Simply by raising those hands,
letting go of every desire,
and then you will be white
as the snow of winter.

Child-Like

Father, let me be a child,
my arms and heart open,
soul calling out to you.
Lead me to fields of green
to dance and laugh with you,
singing among flowers bright.
Let my heart hear you,
with always a "here I am"
resting upon my lips.
Show me your creation anew,
fresh with dew and hope.
Teach me the song that
every creature longs to sing,
born to life with you.
Break my old, cold heart
and remold it, soft clay,
imprinted words buried within,
a solid, strong foundation.
Hold me in your arms,
and give me sweet peace
in my young, child's soul.

Walking Wounded

(This is inspired by one of my lectures)

We are the walking wounded,
hidden behind our perfect shadows
with half hearted smiles
and wearily worn glamour.
Shambling stubbornly through reality,
bones creaking like timber,
rags rotting, dreams all forgotten
and hope for anything better
fallen beneath our treading feet.
Chained to the fear of failure,
pain of being left behind,
loss of unconditional love
and scars too many to count.
We are alone, yet together
and though we are different,
our broken hearts hold the
same mournful cry for healing.
Lifeless eyes plead in silence,
seeking to be filled inside
to wipe away the hollow.
We are the walking wounded,
pain so overwhelmingly cruel,
and all that we long for
is an understanding Healer.