poetry

whatever poetry of mine I am not completely ashamed of (bear in mind most of this is old and somehow pretty depressing topic-wise):

 

Tension

you are just like everyone

-and you are unlike anyone

you struggle and you doubt like everyone else

-and yet you are a brand spanking new creature the likes of which the world has never known

you wish your face was prettier, your thighs thinner, your voice bolder, your jokes funnier

-but you like your thoughts and your opinions and you’re glad they’re yours

you dread a spotlight

-but you light up when they want to hear your opinion

you want to be special

-you’re desperate to fit in

you fear being ordinary

-you long just to feel normal

you don’t want to be boxed in or tied down

-still you long to be grounded by belonging

 

I Am At The End of Myself

I am at the end of myself.

I heard that phrase in a song
and I thought of the endless possibilities of it.
it could mean so many things
romantic things, maybe. crazy things.
today for me it means I have no more of myself to give others that is worth anything.

it means I’ve run out of energy
excuses
trying
running
pushing
thinking I can be enough.

that feels drawn out and sad and heavy, to be at the end of myself because I am not enough, and at twenty-three too.

and yet

I think it means that I am ready to let God be the source of my strength.
maybe I can try that and maybe it will work.
and that is a sweet thing .
that is hope, at the end of myself, of something better.

Devastated:

Gone the days of virgin land,
Of beauty sweet it knows no more;
For few did bravely take a stand
Against the ruthless, violent foe.

Laid in waste the land now lies,
Broken, desolate, and grieved;
A country razed while brave men died,
A king betrayed, usurped, deceived.

Then from the east in morning’s glow
O’er hill of withered brown they came:
A troop of doughty men up rode;
A hero comes, a tyrant’s bane.

(To be continued…)

 

Death:
As visible as wind at night
As fatal as a sword;
For years of happy, carefree life
Death claims his dark reward.

In birthing room and sick-bed dire
Death’s haunting form doth roam;
O’er battlefield and burial pyre
He waits to take his own.

At scent of blood or cry of pain
Death swoops to sufferer’s side;
He hopes the debt of soul to gain
From he whose life is now denied.

 

A thief:
This thief
Creeps up, climbs in,
Takes treasures, takes lives,
Homes and households cannot hide him out;
Welcomed within
Homes from howling wind,
This thief
Is loved until he victim vandalizes;
Dreaded then; distrusted,
But always welcomed anew.
This thief
Brings cheer, brings joy;
Smiles to small faces,
Warmth within hearts, but
This thief
Will whirl away, will
Kill the kind,
Annihilate the innocent.
This thief
Will wound a woman,
Mangle, murder a man,
Cripple a child.
This thief
Asphyxiates, assassinates
Murders many and
Takes what people possess.
This thief
Is brilliant; beautiful,
Ravishes, ruins,
Devastates, destroys, devours.
This thief
Does not keep or cling to but kills,
Neither appreciates nor adores what he
Takes tonight.
This thief
With zeal and zest,
Snatches, snaps up, snares;
Reduces riches to rubbish,
Retains his earnings thought rendered worthless,
And gives nothing back again.
This thief
Defies and yet ignites imaginations
With vibrant, vivid, versatility.
This thief,
Forever feared, is fire’s flame.

 

Plague:
The battle is almost begun
And all are ready
To fight fiercely
For king, kingdom and kin.
But the war waged
Is fought for naught
For who can kill
Disease, despair?
Or defeat Death’s dark hand
When he nears the house at night
And strikes secretly,
Without warning?
Who can gain against
An enemy who engulfs eternity?
So now quickly does our army quake,
Fall back when confronted
With this invisible, invincible foe.
This destructive force devours the land,
And so, yes, the battle is begun,
And all are ready
To fight fiercely
For king, kingdom, and kin.
But the war waged
Is then left alone,
The antagonistic army
Unchecked, unhindered,
And our domain is dissolved, death by slow death, for it is plague.

 

I guess I have a thing for cheery topics, hmm?

anyway, I’m no poet.  these just happened and even the most recent was several years ago.

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