Poems

Faint Lines

Thoughts run deep,

Exceptionally heavy

As I give thought

To this man’s words,

To a legacy that often

Seems lost on

People like me.

A man who fought

For justice and was

Rewarded with injustice-

Death, as a shot

Rang out loud

on a Memphis balcony.

 

How would he react now

Seeing that so little seems

To have changed?

Or, at the very least,

The patterns we traced

Toward freedom are

Still only faint lines

On thin, waxy paper

So freely removed

From the final picture.

 

A picture still unpainted,

Who will dare

To pick up the brush?

Who will give

Voice now to

What is just?

Who will it be?

Will it be us?

 

If one man’s words

Live on in a nation

Through years

And changing times

And changing values…

If one man,

Could say one thing

From that balcony

To change our views,

Then couldn’t the next change,

The now change,

Come from me and you?

If one man, why not two?

 

For a nation that bleeds

And screams for peace,

Yet is known for hiding

Its pain behind platitudes

And pretty, made up lives,

And pretty, made-up faces…

For this nation I pray for peace.

For this nation, I pray that we see

More than violence

And hostility.

I pray that we understand

What it really means

To be free.

And that we tie ourselves

To that responsibility.

 

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Poems

Don’t you know?

Don’t you know?

 

Don’t you know that God created me?

Don’t you know that He

Knit my soul together—

A work of art in His hands?

 

Don’t you know that

Although I am broken by sin,

I am not a broken person?

I am whole because that’s

What He made me to be

When I trusted Jesus as Savior.

 

Don’t you know

What it does to me

When all you expect and

Encourage is for me to

Become someone else’s

“other half”?

 

Don’t you know

That I’m living

The life God has given

Me for here and now?

Don’t you know?

 

Don’t you know

That my life does

Not begin or end

With marriage to

Any man?

 

Don’t you know

What I go through

Every time I hear

You suggest

Otherwise?

 

Don’t you know

How it pains me

When you say to do

This or that while

I’m “waiting” for a man?

 

Don’t you know

That I was made,

Not to wait on a man,

But to wait for the day

My Savior returns?

 

Don’t you know

This isn’t an idle

(or idol) wait,

but a waiting

in purposeful action?

 

Don’t you know

That until we see

Him face to face we

only know a fraction

of His love and our worth?

 

Don’t you know

I will be a

Most beautiful

Bride when He

Returns for me?

 

Don’t you know

That I’m drawing

Close to Him

As I wait

For His return?

 

Don’t you know

That it is in Him

Each one of us

Finds our

Worth?

 

And don’t you know

That He’s worth

Waiting for?

 

Don’t you know?

Poems

Blood of Royals

God, why are we so hard on each other?

Why do we insist on being divided,

When we’re called to love on another?

When we’re called to be united?

One body, one baptism, one faith, one Lord,

Yet we’re too undecided, too quiet,

Too liberal, too conservative, too bored

With the simple message of the incredible,

The sacrifice, the blood, the mercy, the grace,

The wrath, the judgment of the God of the gospel.

And so, we fill all of our empty places

With disquiet and we are not sure

Why the confusion on our faces

Matches the stirring in our souls.

A tension of now, but not yet,

A kingdom being built with the goal

That we should refuse to forget

That we all, together, play a role

And no one of us should be a threat

To another, because we are called

To love one another, to work together,

To serve the poor and the widows, all

The orphans and oppressed, altogether

Loved by God, the Creator, the Almighty—

May we not forget why we’re here—royal

Blood pumps through our souls, and cries

For those we tend to reject, to not give

A second glance. But the Savior died

For all to have a second chance, to live

Free from our sin, our shame, our lies.

We, yes, all of us—humanity

Deserved none of His good gifts,

But we deserved in reality

Punishment, separation, discontent.

And still we miss the totality

Of our absolute need, adrift

From our Hope’s anchor in this sea

Of right and wrong, failure and sin.

 

Together, one another, one body—

Brother, sister, and ultimately unity

All describe the way we are to live,

We must learn to love deeply, and forgive.

 

Poems

Forgive Me.

God forgive me

For my little dreams

That keep me from reality

Because I somehow think

They’re better.

But how would I know?

When all I have to show

For my dreams is the reality

Of staring distractedly

At a computer screen.

My reality isn’t real reality

Because I only live

inside my head

With dreams that are

Better off left there.

And I’m reaching for some

Kind of satisfaction from

These ideas and ideals

That keep me from what’s real.

What’s in front of me

Is only a daydream.

Or is it?

Now I’m staring off

at the beauty

Of the simplicity

That is real life.

Poems

Misled

Pretty eyes gleam with tears unshed,

over a broken love, a heart misled.

She slams her fist against the bag again,

Fighting her emotions as her muscles strain.

Her feet match the rhythm of her breath

And she throws her punches ’til there’s nothing left.

She fought her fight: No more give, no more tears—

Through the heartache, she finally faced all her fears.

 

One-two, punch, step back and push on through.

She leans her head on the bag, and asks what to do.

“Oh, God,” she says, “Why is life such a mess?”

“Help me to let go and trust You for what’s best.”

She closes her eyes and exhales shakily, slowly,

And then releases her fears to God, wholly.

She tugs off the gloves and stops throwing punches,

And feels fear letting her out of its clutches.

Poems

The Truth and the lies

The Truth and the lies

are what lie

within and behind

the fears that paralyze

and the tears that drown

our sorrows. Down

we look at

shaking hands

drenched in untruths

like sinking sands—

we clench our

fists and cry out

loud for truth.

 

But truth seems a

shrouded mystery—

a Vine that

winds around

you and me.

Barely visible

in the midst

of this quaking

earth, the Vine

intricately winds

in and out of

the discs of our spines.

 

Like books with

spines that are

bound together,

this Vine does

wind and it

does tether

our hearts to itself.

Unlike books

on a shelf

our Truth that

binds is all

at once gentle

and alive.

But gentle and

alive do not

describe the

way we feel

so much of

the time.

 

Our ears are

filled with shouts

and lines

of hatred spewed

and nothing is “fine.”

We shake those

clenched fists

again and again.

But to what end?

My friends,

I ask again,

to what end?

 

Because somewhere

in this call

for the truest

of truth and

the end of the lie,

we’ve drawn lines

in the sand

and we’ve picked

sides. All the while,

this Vine, this Truth

continues to wind,

healing as it finds

a heart willing

to open and

a mind that has

reached the end

of itself, of its

only understanding.

 

Please hear me,

the truth is

that the best

decision is often

neither here nor

there nor black

nor white. And

so it is grey,

the color,

or lack there of,

that rules the day.

 

And so the

Truth, this Vine

that winds

tethering our spines

to strength

and solidarity

is not lost on me.

It’s a gentle

strengthening—

a Spirit alive

within me.

 

The Truth, this Vine

behind the maze

of all the lies

finds my heart—

which beats in time

with the breaking

of glass, and matches

the decibel of voices

that threaten to burst

my ears—the worst

of it leaked out

in my tears.

And so from

here I go

with the strength

of the Vine,

the Truth that

dispels all of the lies,

and I find that

my soul has

finally found rest.