my enemy

The shining glint of silver caught my eye,
Danced like a flame inside my mind.
When I was so cold and lost in night
It called out to me, drawing me closer,
Closer to the edge.
Twisting, twisting my words
Into a pattern fed by hurt,
Locked into a rhyme, a shape
A rhythm I could not escape.

It said
"Your bondage I'll break, relief I'll send,
I'm not your enemy."
But the verse I wrote with that bloody pen
Was anything but free.
How did I let the hero become
My self-destructive deeds?
I suppose that when the day was done
My enemy was me.

Trapped in days of endless rhyme,
Addicted to the sounds-
Carefully crafting perfect lines,
Syllables and wounds.
What would it take to break away
From what I had become?
Feeding myself with the pain,
Motionless and numb.

Then He said
"Your bondage I'll break, relief I'll send,
You can trust in me.
I've written it on the hearts of men,
The truth will set you free."
So I traded my knives and blades for a sword
That didn't slit or sting.
The sword of the Spirit, God's holy word,
Gave me a new song to sing.

Words not formed on my own tongue,
You've made your music mine.
Psalms and hymns and spiritual songs,
Now breaking from the rhyme.

eggshells

How a vase holds up its flowers,
Steady, nourishing, stands tall.
How a nest carries a robin's eggs,
Never lets them, fragile, fall.
A refuge, warm and welcoming,
When into your arms I crawl-
Hold me together when I am breaking,
All alone and feeling small.

A wilted flow'r, plucked from the earth,
Shell broken, I fell down
From the tree with branches mighty
To the dry and cracking ground.
You picked me up and held me,
Still and strong, without a sound-
In your embrace remade me,
I once was lost but now am found.

pink lemonade days

I took a sip of the warm summer sun
As it shone down so sweetly,
Tenderly touching the trunk
Of an old oak tree.

I ran my eager hand
Along its rugged surface,
Ancient and rough,
And I felt so young,
With hands so soft-
So easily bruised and splintered.

I asked the tree,
"Why are you so rough?"
For afternoons are soft with sunshine,
Light and smooth
With delicate daisies peeking through.

And the tree said to me,
"The grass withers
And the flowers fade,
New again each Spring are made.
But here I've stayed
As seasons changed,
Always rooted deep remained.

"I am rough because of all I have seen,
And all I have lost.
I have said goodbye
To many an autumn leaf,
Turned to brown and fallen away.
I have shed my magnificent shades
Time and time again,
And braved wildest winter wind,
With branches weighed down in white.

"Ask me how I became rough,
And I'll tell you it takes time.
It takes bleakest winters
And autumn change,
It takes sun-kissed summers
And rainy-day springs
To make me grow
And give me rings."

I looked at the tree,
So much older than me,
As my freckled fingers danced
Across its jagged wooden shield, so hard,
Yet I sat beneath
Sheltered in softest summer shade.

I suppose I would have liked to stay forever soft
To dwell in endless summer afternoons.
But time did pass,
And my flowers did fade.
Seasons danced
And danced away,
Spiraling into rings as I grew.

But though I'm harder now,
More guarded,
With skin no longer smooth,
Undamaged-
What the tree didn't tell me
Is that I'm so much taller now.
I can see things I could never see before,
During the days of pink lemonade
And shade.

It takes time,
And it takes pain.
It takes loss with gain.
But now I am the tallest of trees.

I may be rough,
But it's because I'm strong.
Softest grass will wither
And flowers fade,
But I will stand forever.

to touch the thunder

You wanted to touch the thunder,
To throw lightning from your hands
And gather the rain in your arms.
You wanted to extinguish
The roaring fire you felt inside,
So you created a thunderstorm
To roar even louder.

But did all your efforts turn your skies to blue?
Your pouring rain
Managed to mute the flame,
But it seems you have exchanged
Your smoky air for smoky skies,
Billowing clouds and ceaseless shade.

Yes, you wanted to touch the thunder
And you did.
You grabbed ahold and didn't let go,
Because thunder feels like a hunger,
An aching and quiet burning
Never satisfied.

Building, building
Into something electric,
Something malevolent.
You feed on the anger and it lashes out,
Lightning from your hands.
Is this how it feels to have control?

You gather the rain in your arms,
As it drops from your eyes.
It seems you have only traded fire for fire,
And you're still left with only ashes.
You wanted to touch the thunder,
And you became the storm.