Sunday, February 8, 2015

poetry inspired in church and my whispering winds class

Lean into hope
and let it lift you
I do not
know how
to do that


That is all
I know
how to do

And in the leaning
the lifting
not everyone around you
some things stay

and the screams of fear
are stolen, so swift,
from my trembling lips
it is as if
they never existed


they are all
that ever has.

There is love in this world
for a while
and a while
in its entirety to partial
full of flawed, finite
human beings
searching for the safety
of something simple

a lap
to lay your head upon

as if the resting legs
of one other
human being
can be
like a harbor enabling you
to skirt
the whipping winds
of words flung in judgement

or like the blessed blanket
you cower beneath
to hide from magical
imagined monsters

like the path your soul
dances upon when
a tune lifts it lightly

It's like these things
because it is
these things
All of them and more

for a while

At some point
where ever the reason originates
those knees must
unbend and
in standing
steal your soft safe place
becoming a momentary
moving reminder
that the love
in this world is perfect
in its imperfect

Wisdom Within our Own Hollow Heart

were stolen
from you heart

As bits of bread are torn
to use as a tool
to sweep the plate clean

of your soul drained
as empty as the last glass of wine

Stolen torn drained ignored

Yet welcome
as someone known deeply
by and into
your own hollowed heart

The heart you once wrote
love notes to,
enough to fill a bookshelf

And peeling your own image
with sorrow and forgiveness
gratitude and peace
are the steps that greet you here
at this new place, your own
front door.

So that
in broken pieces
the mirror comes together
once again enabling you to face
a visage
more perfect in its shattered parts
than you ever
would have