erosion

Deep downstream the current flows,
Erosion of a river bank.
Worn away by time, it knows
It's rugged land will be reshaped.

Sea glass tumbling in the waves
That salty, crash against the shore.
Pounding purifies and saves
Til finally made smooth and pure.

Block of purest marble white,
Inside a hidden sculpture see.
Sculptor's tools will chip away-
Come chip away at me.

Your potter's hands will mold the clay,
Softly spinning, spinning still.
Take your time, build me and break
And make me something you can fill.

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.

scream

It feels like kiwi skin-
Prickly sensation down my spine.

It tastes tart to the tongue-
Surge of sugar, key lime pie.

It looks like a zigzag pattern,
On the heart rate monitor.

It sounds like a soda can,
Popping, fizzing, pent-up pressure.

Its feels like cold metal
Against my bare skin.

It tastes like acid
In my throat worn thin.

It looks like an empty birdhouse
Sitting alone in a tree.

It sounds like silence
Covering up a scream.

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.

candle wax

The scalding water
Streams over my sleepy shoulder blades,
Melting away the drowsiness
That covers me like candle wax.

The early morning washes over me,
Reluctant though I be,
For in dreams I was the tallest candle.

Now the heat distorts my shape
As water shoots from my wrinkled fingers,
Extending, sparkling, to the shower floor below,
And pooling there around my toes.

Steam rises, soporific-
Coating the room in dreamy droplets and mist,
Damp and humid,
And slowly lulling me back
Into my sleep-like state.

The water pounds against my body
In an almost rhythm,
Soothing, smoothing,
Melting, molding.

Awake! Awake!
The sun peeks down,
Touching my tip
And awakening my wick.
I soak in the new day,
A candlestick with a single flame.

A little bit smaller
With each kiss of the sun,
Awake, awake!
The wax will run.
Each weary morning
Til my work is done.

lunar eclipse

Wonders of
The human eye,
The way a lens
Can bend the light.
An iris with
Blue thread crocheted,
Woven round
Black void of space.

So dark within
That stormy sphere,
Who would know
It was truly clear?
The pupil widens,
Embracing the light.
We see straight through
To the retina behind.

Center of color
With rods and cones,
Fovea centralis-
Dividing rainbows.
The lunar eclipse
That I see in your eyes
Is truly a palette,
All colors combined.

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.