Tag: poetry

The One

Rushing and hurrying. Impatience growing.
Scheduling and scrambling. Restlessness building.
—Waiting on the One
Who created and controls all time.

Dreaming and pursuing, but goals disappearing.
Working and trying. Heartbreak consuming.
—Trusting in the plans and promises
Of the One who never fails.

Fearful and hiding. Timidity’s hold.
Creating, shaping, for my eyes alone?
—Confiding and finding confidence
In the One who provides all gifts. 

Constant worry and stress. Anxiety’s grasp.
Wondering, will I ever get it right?
—Choosing to follow the One,
Who first chose and loved me.

Mistake after mistake, over and over.
Failing and falling. Again, and again.
—Relying on the forgiveness given
By the One who’s life was faultless.

 

Hawk or Hummingbird

 

 

Are you the hawk?
Or the hummingbird?
Maybe something in between?

The hawk is fierce,
Hunting, searching, never satisfied.
Preying on those weaker than himself.

His cry pierces the earth,
Signaling his beauty, his control,
A reminder to those who fear him.

He circles the sun, soaring
Higher than most dare to go.
What could ever cause him to fall?

The hummingbird is gentle,
Waiting, hovering, always pleasing.
Hiding from all confrontation.

Her silence keeps her safe,
Showing her inner strength, her mind,
A token to those who regard her.

She drifts from flower to flower,
Never staying still for too long.
What will ever make her settle?

So, are you the hawk?
Or the hummingbird?

Is there a way to be in between?

Cycle

 

Sunrise—the light of a new beginning,
the chance to start again.
Hope breaks through the clouds,
chasing away the dark, the rain.

Flowers—new growth,
showing change can be okay.
Petals reaching, leaves outstretched,
searching for their purpose, their plan.

But the wind will blow,
scattering the leaves, tearing the petals.
The thunder will roar, water will overtake,
hiding the light, stunting the growth.

But time will pass, the breeze will calm.
allowing the clouds and flowers to settle.
The sun brings new light, seeds bring new blooms.
The cycle continues, all the same.

Angle

May not have represented hope…

A different angle can change everything.
It can provide a new perspective,
Help gain a fresh understanding.

The purple flowers, from any other side,
Would have just existed.
Would have just been there.

The leaves, if looked at from another direction,
Could have been trampled without a thought,
Could have been bit off by the hungry muzzle nearby.

The sunset, through any other lens,
Might have been missed.
Might not have been appreciated.

The light, if blocked by any thicker foe,
May not have interrupted the shadows.
May not have represented hope.

Sometimes

The moon shines through my window
I can see it without lifting my weary, sleepy head.
If only it was that easy to see you.

To check on you.
To know you.

There’s just a sliver tonight,
Most of it is blocked by earth.
Missing.
Like you. And me. Us.

The wind howls and rattles the leaves.
The window shakes in anger.
The grass bows in submission from the weight
Of my questions.

Do you hate me? Love me? Forgive me?
Or am I forgotten? Swept away like leftover crumbs.
To be taken out on cleaning day.

The clouds are misleading.
Sometimes dark and thundering,
Sometimes pure and soft.
I guess it depends on the day
Or on your perspective.

That’s kind of how it is with my questions
At times pressing, demanding, even haunting.
Other times light and gently passing,
Not in desperate need of answers.

But like the moon, they come and go
Sometimes a sliver, sometimes consuming.
Sometimes easy to see, sometimes missing.
And sometimes, simply,
gone.

 

 

Cracked

The lightning spat, the thunder growled. Dogs scurried every which way, searching for shelter under anything they could find. Most of the horses cowered into the darkest corners of their stalls, seeking safety, but not him. He was unswerving, storm tested, braver than all. He was his own security. His russet head hung over the stall door, his golden eyes quiet, considerate. The rain dripped down from the cracked gutter, soaking his floppy ears and face. But he didn’t seem to mind. I had to wonder why. Could he hear my thoughts? Was he done, was this the end? Would he ever be the same again? Was that what kept him still? I realized my own face was just as drenched-but not from rain. From the burning, salty tears staining my cheeks, sneaking freely from cracked tear ducts.

So Easy

It’s so easy to forget 

When I’m caught up in my loneliness

That You’ve planned out every step 

 

It’s so easy to forget

When I long for my own way

That You know what’s best for me 


It’s so easy to forget 

When the wind roars and drowns you out 

That Your voice can still the sea

 

It’s so easy to forget 

When darkness floods and I can’t find hope

That You make all things possible 


It’s so easy to forget

When I feel forgotten and left out 

That You make all my dreams attainable 

A Blanket

She lies there, draping the couch or the bed, just waiting.
Waiting for the next cold soul who will seek her warmth.
Until then, she is useless. A piece of fabric with no purpose.
Wasted material.

She has been thrown away, forgotten by the ones she loves most.
Like a thoroughbred who can’t gallop,
or a pen with dried up ink,
there is no point for her existence.

Unless the weather changes, the snow begins to blow,
or the trees begin to tremble from the force of life’s gusts,
no one will notice or remember her.

She is their storm shelter—a necessity. But only a few times a year.
That is when they’ll pick her up, hold her close,
and expect her to fulfill their deepest desires.

She’ll be torn, edges fraying down the front.
She’ll want to please them,
but she’ll want to scream,
and curse them, all the same.

Where were they when she needed a shelter?
Where were their arms when she needed to be held close?
Where were their hands when she was in the hurricane?

No explanation given, no reasons or excuses even attempted,
to vindicate their evaporation.
She’ll want to run, to leave them lonely, as they always leave her.
But she won’t. She has no one else.
Staying, though torture, is easier than leaving.

So she’ll stay put. She’ll stay still. She’ll stay silent.
Because she is simply a sheet of silk, a blanket—
she will only keep them warm.

 

Hole

To scream for air, to just be heard…

I heard the crack.
The impact of metal on wood—
The wood not withstanding his punch.

I begged the hose to trickle faster.
Or for the bucket to suddenly be smaller.
Just so I could get to him.

He had kicked, a hole in the wall.
I peered in. Looking for answers.
Looking for the future.

But all I saw were spiders.
All splintered by the shadows.
All screaming for air.

He gave me the once over.
Eyes glaring, daring me to speak.
To challenge his actions.

But I couldn’t. Rather, I wouldn’t.
Because all I wanted
Was to do the same.

To tear down the whole shed.
To punch a hole that deep.
To scream for air, to just be heard…
Even if I hated the spiders.