Poetry

Resurrection

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I slip slowly into a maze of words.

I realize suddenly that my entire being is an art form of expression and wonder, curiosity, myth, and reality curving together and shaking with rapture at the intersections and commonalities woven between the rhythm.

I am lost to the magic spirally beyond it all.

Yet I mourn the fact that I’ve let myself hide away from the music pounding within my bones. I’ve hidden from the very life coursing from my veins trying to survive. The hiding precipitated the slow death of me.

I’ve been a dead man walking. Driven by the wind, I’ve clung and grasped at the air without realizing it’s my very breath that sucked the song from my lungs.

At the point where my spirit disconnected from my being, I was buried in a tomb of my own making.

Here lies my body. Here, my fingers softly pound keys, revealing my heart, my resolve, and I breathe again.

These words, my resurrection.

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I’m not Complaining

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snapped tree

The truth is…

There are too many thoughts rolling around in my head to make anything fully coherent

The truth is…

I’m watching the things I’ve worked so hard to build crumble around me

Knowing still, it will all be okay and we will rebuild

We will be better than before

I live in hope

I am an optimist

My glass is half full always

Still I wonder, why does it never seem to be full?

Maybe that’s just life

Maybe the trials of this present time aren’t worthy to be compared with the joy to come

Maybe light and love trump darkness every time

Still I watch in helplessness

Water dripping from my broken roof

Drywall sagging and stained

The beauty of a home remodeled in need of restoration again

Irma was a punk

It hasn’t been fun

I haven’t complained…at least not really

A call from others pulls my husband away to make another roof blue in the aftermath of the storm

It temporarily stops their further damage but mine remains

As so often is the case, we are last on the list of our priorities

So we wait

Dinner cooks in the pan near the spot where the water pours

My kitchen a wet, sopping, disaster zone

My living room in disarray as the furniture sits in foreign places avoiding the inevitable spill

Why is it still raining?

Why does the sight of the trees fallen and dead all around my yard bring me sadness?

We are alive

We are whole

We are grateful

Still my patience runs thin

Oh how spoiled I’ve been

Oh how I long to be more than I am

To be who I was made to be

To leave behind the mundane and steadily place my hands to the plow and sow

But here I sit in a kitchen cooking dinner and maybe that’s enough

The Greatest of these is Love

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Though Angels’ tongues could escape my lips and sentiment sweet should flow

When grace extends my patience thin

When arms become empty, hearts heavy, feet ready for escape, eyes drifting, head aching, song quiet, candles huffed to cooled wax, all seems lost around me, I remember. 

Greater love has no man than he who lays down his life for a friend. 

Perfect love casts out fear

Love suffers long and is kind

Love thinks no evil, bears all things, believes all things. 

Love never fails. 

Love is not about what I can get. 

For love, I empty myself 

I give all

I prefer another

I am fulfilled 

Love

Refocusing

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Blurs are often ended with the bluntness of a break. A single straw that interrupts the momentum long enough for sanity to creep in and remind me that I am more than this. 

In the quest for perfection, I lost sight of the adventure. In the race towards better, I steadily slipped into worse. In the pursuit of holiness, I forgot to trust in grace. Somewhere in between it all, I stopped breathing. I lost myself when I quit looking. 

Today, I’m thankful for the straw. Small fractals of light that shine through offense, wake me from my hypnotism. Freedom often comes when I least expect it. Thank you straw man! Lord, please block my path when I get stuck on auto-pilot. 

Lightning

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 PHOTOGRAPH BY LIONEL BROWN, GETTY IMAGES 



You’re like lightning. You come in flashes that light the whole world with beauty. With each strike, you rejuvenate and enrich the soil. You bring with you hope and the promise of rain. But in the end, I know you’ll hurt me if i get too close. 

Repairing the Well

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The day draws close to an end and I feel pulled to page to open up the release valve and let it all go. Lately, I’ve filled the well with other things and stopped the flow of words. The difference in me is palpable. Tonight I’ve decided to dig. The sound of shovel moving earth resonates hope to my dry heart. I’ve been hiding under there too long. 

Seasons pass swift and furious without effort and I often leave myself behind sucking dust. Life isn’t found in the motions but rather in the movement. Spirit and soul drawn into deep breath moving me from who I’ve been to who I am. The lioness awakening, drinking deep. 

Tonight, as the earth moves, I’m closer to the spring from which the water begins to rise. Tonight, I’m a little closer to living and maybe that’s what matters. 

the simple things 

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Rest, weary eyes, I’ll keep watch

Breathe in deep while I listen

Among the noise, tune into the sound of my voice, carrying you high above the chaos to a place of freedom

Too mired you’ve been in the temporal

Mud sticking to your shoes reminding you who you were, ash formed into beauty

I see you lovely. 

Awake among the leaves and learn to fly