Posts Tagged: poetry

Pressed to Serve

I starch and iron out your robes–

keeping your perfection at a safe distance.

But, you close the gap between us,

removing royalty to wash the grime off my feet.

God’s Identity Crisis

I AM  is not plagued by an identity crisis.

i

wrestle with his character. And in the sweat of discovery find,

my own name more sweetly defined by the wildness of my

untamed God.

Poetry by Elizabeth Barret Browning

Grief

I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness,
In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare
Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare
Of the absolute heavens. Deep-hearted man, express
Grief for thy dead in silence like to death—
Most like a monumental statue set
In everlasting watch and moveless woe
Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.
Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:
If it could weep, it could arise and go.

 

 

I Didn’t Press Replay

I didn’t press replay but, there you were

smirking in my dreams, and I search each one

hoping to find a clue.

I Tremble at Writer’s Block

I tremble at blank pages. Penning

next days crumbled outtakes until

there are no words left for today.So I

steep myself in tea

and toss words like an abstract artist

until the page is stained

with tea and ink blots resembling

hope and substance.

 

Drinking Vial Depression

I am Juliet, romancing

depression like a star-crossed

lover, and drinking a poisoned vial of knowledge

to freeze the tic-toc of suffering. Graves and rosy

cheeked epitaphs serendade my hopes and dreams

with youthful ignorance. We elope to escape the tyranny of

commitment. Brow, not yet soiled by sweat, does not

have the strength to withstand suicide’s slander. So I lie, willingly,

in wait for my Romeo to rescue. And leave the priests to ask,

“Death, what are your intentions?”

I Am Was Here

Humanity keeps scratching graffiti identity

into wood and bathroom stalls . . .

Settling for surface tattoos,

when I engraved you in the palm of my hands.

 

(Isaiah 49:16)

 

 

Testimony Tuesday: Let Pain Sing

When

I unlatch

the cage around

my heart,and pull out the throbbing

pain within, I am surprised to find a small

trembling bird, waiting for the

strength of release.

Bathe in my Love

My child.

Shake depression’s dust from

your travel beaten soul and bathe in

my pure love. Let me pour my healing fragrance

over your wounds and give you rest.

 

I plucked you from the orphanage

of death and clothed you in the rich threads

of royalty. Everything I have is yours– I withhold

nothing of myself from you.

 

I have worn your dust, and know your

sin beaten sorrow. I lift your downcast face, to see the

crowning glory of my new day

reflected in the creation of you.

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If you or a loved one are in immediate danger, call the National Suicide Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or go to the website at  SuicidePreventionLifeline.org.