Tag: Writing

Fading

And as the sun fades behind the mountains,
Taking the brilliant shades with it,
Will you feel contentment, peace?
Or will it stir a longing, a question?

Does it reflect the satisfaction of your day, or
Mirror the uncertainty you feel in this moment?
Encouraging you towards tomorrow, or
Dragging you down to another day?

Do the colors bring you joy, or do
You find yourself wishing they’d reverse?
Putting the sun back in the sky, giving you
More time, more chances. More beats.

Do you dread the darkness, the coldness that will come?
Or are you fulfilled by your successes?
And enjoy the break, and the rest,
Now that this day is done.

The same setting, same colors, same time, same place,
Can be defined differently by each one
Who beholds it. Who takes it in.
But the real, true beauty, doesn’t come
From the actual sunset.

It comes from finding truth.
And knowing the One who creates it.

Memory

The thing about a memory
Is you only have your half.
Someone else’s version could be
Something completely different.
Or something forgotten.

 
Their laughter, because of something
Simple you couldn’t grasp, still
Echoes around your mind.
And even though it came at your expense,
The sound remains clear and sweet.

 
Their words, delivered when you
Needed them most, are still etched on your
heart. Available to be replayed whenever
You need them. As close to you
As your fingertips.

 
Their smile, showing above the crowd,
Encouraging you to keep going, to
Keep trying, now only remains
As a shadow, trying to stay vivid
In a faded, disappearing light.

 
But questions haunt and long for
their answers. What do they think?
What pieces of the puzzle can they
Put together? Or are you crazy,
For keeping it all so familiar?

 
But there’s another side that
Haunts and bothers, if you put
Yourself in their shoes. What do they
Remember, what do they hold on to,
That you don’t?

Truth

Spinning in circles, going nowhere fast.
Squinting, blinking, tearing up,
Trying to see through the dust.

Frustration building, tension growing,
Muscles rigid and tight.
Fighting yourself every step.

Sweat trickles down, a chill
Interrupts the heat of the moment,
Questions what the effort is for.

The sun blinds instead of enlightens.
The glare makes it impossible to see,
To think, to choose, to find, anything.

Feet grow tired, knees grow weak,
Minds fill with every fear and doubt,
Will I ever be right? Will I ever be enough?

But one slight shift, one change in perspective,
Can stop the spinning, can dry the tears,
Can lift our eyes and give us new vision.

A Hand reaches down, lifting our shuffling
Feet out of the trench we’ve created,
Clearing the dust from our head,

Silencing the thoughts of doubt,
Removing each tingle of fear,
Replacing each with a Voice filled
With nothing but pure truth.

Keep

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.