Tag: poetry is life

My One Confession

My One Confession

In this dark hour
when my life
pride would devour,
I know
I can do nothing
no matter what I own
no matter my great feats
I cannot heal
without my Sustainer.
I am industrious
smart
know all - 
But Father,
I can do nothing
be nothing,
except by your grace.

Accept

Accept

Accept you know
but do not know.

For when we don't know
good things will come.

When we look around the corner too soon
We may fall into a trap too deep.

There is no esculator up these mountains
only the wind to carry us.

Accept that you can't know
and good things will follow.

Letting Go

Letting Go

Why is so hard
to let go
of the worst of you?
Why do we cling to things
that mean us no good.
We battle the demons
that have no power
because we holder tighter
to things that would devour
the progress we made.
Why is it so easy
to make ourselves small
to crawl when we could run
to bow
when we could stand tall
unmovable
unbreakable
unstoppable.

Repairer of the Breach

Repairer of the Breach

Will you take this on?
Will you fight?
Will you do what os right - 
even while they tear at your flesh?
Will you answer the abeng of your heart
the haunting sounds of the drums
as they speak to you of what's to come?
Even when they tell you of dangers
lurking in familiar places.
Will you breach the electric fence
and break the dam
so water can flood the land
again?
Will you take that stand?
Or will you sit
drowning in your own spit
as you reach for rotting morsels of flesh?

Will you embrace your destiny?

Will you be the repairer of the breach?

I Stand Corrected

I Stand Corrected

I stand corrected,
for now I truly see,
the breach I have committed
in not seeing your humanity.
I am better than the Pharisee - 
is this not true?

I stand corrected, 
for my shaky legacy
of misguided hurt
that led me to bury you in the dirt
when I cast the first stone
instead of bathing you in the light.

I stand corrected for my part
in not seeing the treasure you are,
in my chest filled with duplicitous art.

Keeping it Real

Keeping It Real

I have been designed many times:
who I am
who I should be 
who I was meant to be.
But none asked  
what I am to me
what I was meant to be
or what I see in me.

They count the years
and fuel my fears
with their unasked for expectations.
No one seems willing
for me to be me -
They will say they do-

      There is the lie.

They can't handle the truth of me.
And so they see what they want to see
the maddening fever of their mirage.
So
they polish up and shine
the me they designed
and leave me to languish,
wasted 
dusty
on the shelf.
There I sit
after having been split
by good intentions
and kind words,
struggling to reassemble myself
while you nurture a leprechaun elf.

I Try and Compose Myself

I Try and Compose Myself

I stay still
and pray for the will
to keep myself together.
The more I try
to shut my eyes
A little piece of me
falls away 
like the burnish autumn leaves.
Silently too like an old banshee
I scream from the fright
of what this could mean.
Layer after layer melted in a scurry
while I sat nervously
fretting and sweating with worry - 
what could this mean?

As each layer continues to fall away - 
to de-compose
and expose -
What I see,
is a deep down rawness
of a tale no one knows - 
not even me.