Night Poem

Sunset, stage set-

light lingers rose,

before surrendering

to night.

Stars, moon,

coolness and clarity.

inspiration to

so many poets.

 

Melancholy just vomits

metaphors, that are

so hard to reach with

fingertips

when you have

temporal joy,

with neither thanks

nor overflow.

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Identity

Flashlight, internally focused,

more questions than answers.

The more earnest the search,

the blurrier vision becomes.

Turned to seek through others

accumulated knowledge,

self-quizzes, fragments of behavior.

Strengths, categories, labels both despised

and grasped, white-knuckled,

to the tattered capes of temperament.

Knowledge, self-analysis,

continued revision, reassurance, reaction-

wild, cold initial pride,

buoyed on emptiness.

Key component missing.

Need to rest on who Jesus declares me to be,

when I look to Him.

 

 

All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely. NLT(1 Corinthians 13:12b).

Hope in God

On their knees,

trembling,

heart-clutching,

fallible.

Broken grey cisterns

chipped ivory china with

blush of rose petals.

Don’t pin hope’s

softness on them.

Look up for steady,

Look up for time,

Look up for patience,

utter, settled understanding.

Infant of Hope

Nestled in warm, dank

animal hay-

such common

surroundings.

Flat bleats, distressed moos-

Early sting of rejection.

Outside were the

crowding, circling,

cursing travelers

and harried businesses.

All life moved to the subtle,

universal metronome.

Few knew him, few saw him,

little recognition this time.

Still, there was an inward gold joy

at the fruition of God’s promises,

heavenly Father beaming pride at His Son.

Flee

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/flee

 

Courage says you sink into the battle crowd,

No stretch of time to hide or to sleep right now-

feel stabbing fear as enemies cry so loud.

Your own wisdom cries, desperate,  don’t you bow.

In cement you plant your boots,  sword cuts through crowd.

you must fight  with a sword the size of a bough.

Still some battles inside will not let you free,

and the best offense is to turn, quick, and flee.

Ecclesiastes 12:1

Tender twenties, misty passions,

healthy, vivid indignation-

burning, vibrant are compassions,

heady pride that’s gold and brazen.

 

Take your direction from your Lord,

set your heart on what he wants-

when older reaping is in store,

the heart alone, emptied founts.

 

For many tears have become dust,

reservoir stands almost gone,

clot of bitterness, painful rust,

little from this may be drawn.