And we’ll find a way to keep going,
Even if stop signs are in our way.
And we’ll find a way to keep loving,
Even if hate holds us at bay.
And we’ll find a way to keep believing,
Even if darkness is all we see.
And we’ll find a way to keep progressing,
Even if setbacks won’t set us free.
And we’ll find a way to keep on dreaming,
Even if it’s just one day at a time.
And we’ll find a way to keep achieving,
Even if we can’t find the perfect rhyme.
Branch
The wind blows, rustling the leaves,
A reminder that life is still held within,
Even if the weight is suffocating.
The branch groans, trying to stretch,
Feeling the pain of the pruning,
From days now placed in the past.
The end bows back towards the soil,
Heavy beneath the produce it carries,
Sitting patiently, but questioning, its worth.
Then, the darkness shifts, as the outline
of the mountain is revealed. A silhouette
glowing under the first idea of a new day.
The clouds drift from black and grey
to soft pink, and rich purple, showing
the change only the Son can give.
Under the light, the Gardener pads
across the grass, dew squishing beneath
Each step, approaching the branch.
A light touch fingers the leaves,
Kind eyes admire the fruits, gently
Removing each one, adding them to
His basket, subtracting the weight,
Relieving the grief. A reward for staying
Faithful. A reminder that empty branches
Are thrown to the fire, but fruit bearers
are pruned, tested, so they can carry more.
So they can work for, and in tune, with the Gardener.
Old Friend
My oldest friend
Has never said a word to me,
But he’s the best speaker I know,
Once you’ve learned how to listen.
He’s heard every dream and heartache,
And caught every tear,
As it slid from my cheek and clung
To his coat, waiting to be absorbed.
He’s taught me more about dealing
With and living through pain,
Than anyone else could. Always
Making a lesson out of what he’s endured.
His heart is genuine, he holds no grudges.
Forgiving even those who cut him deep.
His soft muzzle nuzzling their palm,
Warm air blowing through their fingers.
He thinks he’s king, holding the herd in check.
Keeping an eye out for threats that exist,
And, for those that don’t.
But you can never be too safe.
He still runs and plays like a carefree colt,
Even though his muscles and joints tell the truth
Of the years that are catching up to him.
More days behind him than before.
Our time is shortened by each sunset,
Each passing season and star.
But for now, I’ll cling to his mane.
And listen to every word still unspoken,
Throwing in a few thoughts of my own,
Thanking him for everything he’s given.
Thanking him for everything he is and has been.
Season
We read there is a season for everything
And we read more, pray more,
To try to understand
If we need to wait, to be patient,
Or pray for the strength to let go,
To finally, and fully, move on,
For healing to kick in, to
Settle the dust, sweep away the cobwebs.
Seal every crack on the surface,
And underneath.
Or is it time to go ahead?
Dropping new seeds into damp soil,
Covering them, sheltering them,
Until enough rain, sun, and nurturing
Allows the first shoot to sprout.
But, what if, instead of planting,
It’s time to pluck? To rip the
familiar and comfortable from their roots.
Tearing leaves and tossing them to the wind.
Letting them flutter and float away,
Before swirling and snapping across the ground.
Will the questions ever have answers?
Will the times, the seasons, ever make sense?
In His timing, in His timing alone,
Will the beauty ever be revealed,
Will the answers ever be given.
Falling
Leaves change as time spirals
Away from green and into brown,
Or maybe gold or bronze,
Depending on how you take it.
The breeze changes directions
From warmth to chilling wind,
Testing the strength of connections,
Breaking the weak with the slightest shift.
Light appears later and fades faster,
Shortening the day while remaining
The same. The role of division
Switched for the sun and the stars.
Silence vibrates through frozen ground
Now bare, empty, waiting for new seeds,
For new life, to start over, to begin,
Just to chance losing it all again.
Shattered Sand
As the first beam touches the darkness,
Removing night shadow by shadow,
Rays of gold light touch down,
And hope is easy to feel.
Dreams and desires tingle at fingertips,
New chances are as close as each breath.
Energy renews, refreshing each spirit.
Beginnings seem simple to grasp.
But earth turns slightly every second,
Hiding the light beyond the horizon,
Out of reach, out of sight, out of hand,
Pink and purple streaks write the ending.
The light of the moon gives just enough
To reflect the dreams lying unfulfilled,
Illuminating the chances sitting unturned,
Failure twinkling back from the stars.
The whiteness glows against the clouds,
Outlining what will never fully be drafted,
Drawn, or said. Haunting those who look up
out of sleep, out of peace, out of try.
We let these moments slip through
Our fingers. Like grains of sand sliding out
Of a broken or cracked hour glass.
Impossible to pick up, put back, or count.
One small tap in the wrong place,
The crack ruptures, nothing can be held.
The sand mixes with shattered shards,
Splintering the hand that hopes to fix it.
Fearless
If I was fearless,
I would stand center stage,
Singing every melody my heart holds.
I’d have no secrets,
My thoughts would be known.
No one would doubt how I feel.
Maybe I’d still be the criminal,
The cause of all the loss and pain,
The one they’d like to forget.
But if my words could be perfect,
If the rhyme and rhythm were right,
Then we could all gain a new perspective.
They’d know how the changes broke me,
Left me torn and alone to heal.
But in turn, I’d see what I caused them.
To see their confusion, their hurt,
And hold their anger in my hands.
I’d find it feels just like my own.
We could solve all the miscommunication,
Tear down the walls, and start to repair
What the downpour flooded and destroyed.
But I’m not fearless, I’m quiet.
Fearful. Finding that they are too,
Too much the same, too silent.
So I’ll stand alone in the background,
Singing quietly under my breath.
Knowing we’ll never get back to normal.
Silhouette
A silhouette,
A shadow,
There for your eye
But, maybe, not
For someone else.
An outline of
What could be
Hidden by what is
The setting, maybe,
Rising, of the sun.
The dark shape
Only shows against
A brighter background
Visible, thanks to
What stands behind it.
But one blink, one shift,
And the shape can just
Simply disappear.
Will you remember it?
When all of this is over?
Time
Time never does what we want it to.
It mostly does the opposite, in fact.
Going too fast, but then too slow,
Switching, swirling, like the wind.
When we’re in a hurry, or waiting,
Minutes drag on like days, like distance.
The silence only interrupted by the echo
Of the clock ticking, mimicking our hope.
But when every minute counts, for memories,
They blur, flying by as simple seconds.
The edges end up fuzzy, fizzling away,
Leaving us with nothing to remember.
Hope and Patience
Hope and patience form an intersection,
Sprouting green leaves and new blooms.
They water each other, support showering
Down, sun rays shining on the droplets.
Hope is expectation, a want for something
To happen. Or to change. Maybe a beginning—
A shoot of light springing from the dark ground,
Stretching for sky, moving, to be made into more.
Patience, the capacity, the endurance, of delay.
Waiting, counting, on what may never happen.
Tolerating trouble without emotion, always searching,
For the bud to show, for the timing to be right.
It’s difficult to describe hope without patience, waiting,
And even harder to define patience without hope, desire.
They’re tied together, entwined, woven into a
Coexistence, helping, holding on to each other.
When one sizzles out, the other follows fast.
The leaves curl, the blooms fade: vibrant to burnt.
The dullness drives in burning questions and doubts.
The unknown lingers and lurks in the shadows.
One Word at a Time 