I watched and waited, wondering
Why you willfully wished me away.
Wasn’t I worthy?
Wasn’t I wary?
For once unguarded
I believed you would choose me.
For once I wished I was the one
You want, no less, no more
Than your pleasure.
But, as I watched and waited,
As I wondered if you would remember,
It dawned on me in white waves.
Like washing my soul with pebbles.
Not your choice, not the one.
Not the wish you waited for,
Or the companion of your pleasure.
For Promising Poets
Giddy kids in line,
Dancing, antsy for the ride.
Winter, Christmas flew.
Unveil my eyes.
Bury your world deep inside me.
Waft your sweet Spirit’s fragrance past my nose.
Let me taste the refreshment of your fruit,
And offer its bounty to a hungry world.
Sing over me a chorus of your glory and affection.
Be more real than me, myself.
Excise and destroy my unbelief.
Press me deeply into you
Until we are more one than two.
Once upon a time
EverAfter sounded like hell.
Days much longer on
Resounding death knell.
I fell defeated to my knees
Slipping down through
There was you.
Pitched forward, I expected
To fall forever.
There was you
Who caught my feeble hands.
For a time I yet knew
Nothing but the salt of
My own tears,
Denied, stubborn love.
My world still cracks and sways.
But pitched forward, I lean
Into stable arms and lend-ed breath.
LIke a fairytale
I stand in the embrace
Clasped in the arms
Of eternity’s King.
Cracked, clay earth
A scarce memory.
image by: http://www.womeninthebible.net/2.7.Adulterous_woman.htm
A winter white rose
As if she dares the pending snow
to steal her royal garb.
Ringed with velvet petals
Her heart is crazy bold.
As if she holds off passing time
She chafes against the cold.
Frailer blooms have bowed their heads.
To dark and murderous winter’s doom.
The season’s taken many things
It’s chill-expected toll.
Her fragrance wanes.
Her spine now curves in weakened pain.
With dignity she wakes each morn
Single tear-petals drip past thorns
On their journey to the ground.
One winter white rose
Know’s not her season to expire.
Wakes each morn with lovely valor.
Life lies dormant.
Salvation writhes between closed pages.
Aged, old of fathers’ past,
“Obsolete,” accuse the ignorant.
Red words bleed between the lines,
Of promises aged, old
Sworn by a Father of no beginning.
Thick, shimmery leaves
Opposite loosed, leather binding.
Tattered from a history of love.
A name worn from its face
Declares value to treasuring fingers.
Aged, old, now gone.
Slipped form limbs and belligerence
To a world promised
Sworn by a Father of no genesis.
Composed for Gooseberry Garden weekly poetry challenge.
Image borrowed from: http://ourjourneywestward.com/tag/nature-journals/