Cradled within the womb of death, scripture beats defiant.
Lean in, to discern hope’s unfolding;
multiplying cells of truth over pregnant centuries. Giving
breath to us, too often, dragged to the grave.Â
Soothing empty arms,
with strong proof of life after life.
So soft, it is thunder in the vast
noise of doubt’s marketplace.
Firming
backbone to bow
to no man.
Resolving who knit whom together.
Renewing covenant with an empty
grave.
Our souls
swollen with
grief—for but a while.
Cocooned, your wings
folded into cramped quarters of
fragile purpose.
Too young–death has touched
you.
ripped your still forming chrysalis
forced your
eyes open to the dust
of humanity. So you hide deep within
safety, questioning the wisdom of
God. Why did he mold you to fly in a world
chained by gravity?
I watched you work the knot
higher, slow progress
did not deter your
forming soul
from quiet goals of
resilience, the gravity of your
situation pulling you
towards earth
but determination
calling you defiantly upward
till you lay your weary
head in the hammock
content.
I reach into photos, attempting CPR on settled smiles.
We need
Love that sweats, pours
Out humility, serves
Like it’s goin’ out of style.
Love that callouses,
But isn’t calloused, that
Has dirt under the nails, while everyone else
washes their hands
Of you. Love that endures the scars of loss,
Hangs on in darkness, when others hang loose
in light times.
Love that climbs into pits, pulls
us from flames and washes our wounds.
Nitty gritty love that removes royal robes to know
the dust of our humanity!
On our own, the miracle of belief misses the bullseye.
Our arrogant eyes, religiously taking aim
at flesh, with log or spec setting
off truth’s perfect course to the heart.
And nature reveals the gravity of our sin—friction
setting law against law,
pulling faith to the ground.
Words fail to hit their aim; faulty
and misshapen by the stiff spine of intent,
but, flexing improves our accuracy.
And three fletching feathers (love, faith, and hope)
gives the necessary rotation
So that life doesn’t plane out of control.
And the word hits its mark every time.
tip-toeing around him,
my fragile reality etched in
stone
I slip into loneliness and
remember
Body bolstered by belief,
and honed by instruction
motors towards the finish line.
Joy, baptizing those in your wake.
Arms outstretched to receive
the prize.
Embraced by love,
Until you wiggle free,
ready to face your expanded distance.
Tally marks flickering in the darkness
Waiting for my wish . . .
Â
For regrets to be extinguished and
joy to sing once more.
For sweet icing to be a delightful treat,
not a heavy poison of despair.
Â
To surprise people with my flavor–
Strawberries snuck between living layers,
Moist with love, faith, and hope.
Giving fresh perspective to a new year
Of breathing in and out, a daily present opened faithfully.
So desperate for help
we dig our way from rabbit hole to rabbit hole
pride shrinking and growing depending which
ego we feed
following the myth to its never ending conclusions
corridors of cards
played down to the queen
and she smiles
squeezing our hearts ever tighter
a dreamed nightmare
of tattoos and tea parties
picked apart by plump caterpillar philosophers’
puffing smoke of their own self worth
around ignorance and bliss.
And I dolled up in innocence
follow the tic-toc of the nervousness time-piece
never one to be late
for a party I wasn’t invited to.
If you or a loved one are in immediate danger, call the National Suicide Lifeline at 988 or go to the website at https://988lifeline.org/