Skip to main content


Showing posts from May, 2011

Beyond An Ocean

Two things my heart and hands have held,
In stubborn shackles bound them fast:
Entranced, I fell beneath their spell
And thought my wonder unsurpassed.

The first was borne on voices fair
That sang of ancient, mystic lands
Of seas and home and starlit hair,
In words I could not understand
Its beauty stirred within my heart
A longing for a greater place
I felt it tore my soul apart
And led me on a hopeless chase
I dreamt of lovely, perfect worlds
And friends I could not hope to make
Full joy and bliss before me swirled,
So bright that I would weep to wake.

The second called me from the dark
And bade me open up my mind
It promised mirth, a wild spark,
And pleasure of a different kind
It pierced me, searched my secret thoughts
And found desires buried deep,
Convinced me this was what I sought--
Then woke the seedlings from their sleep.
I tended these until they grew,
Not knowing full what I had done.
Once chained and choked, I saw the truth,
But though I tried, I could not run.

A Man came by and looked at me
Said, “I’ve redeemed you from the grave.
For freedom I have set you free,
So live no longer like a slave!”

I saw then, what these truly are:
The one is but a guiding light
That points me to my Home afar;
The other lingers in the night
And seeks to hold me always there,
So why should I to either cling?
A sparrow rescued from the snare,
I’ll rise on stronger, newer wings.

Two things my heart and hands have held,
In stubborn shackles bound them fast:
Today I bid them both farewell
And sweep their ashes to the past.

Ode to Minute, Crystalline Precipitation

I stand within a meadow wide
Its borders marked by barren trees
While on the wind white snowflakes glide
And drift like sad, unfinished dreams--
Now some fall to my fingertips
To kiss with cold, unfeeling lips

O wind! Untamed and ever free
Can thou, the gentle bearer, know
This life so dark I cannot see
This world with nowhere safe to go?
And dost thou sing for starry skies
Or in the darkness yearn for eyes?

O snowflake, clinging to my hair
So intricate, so small and pure
What couldst thou know of blank despair
Of death’s deceptive, restful lure?
O that I could be as thou art;
Refresh and make anew my heart!

Unique art thou, but though my touch
Is gentle, deep within my hand
There lies a dread destroyer, such
As thou art pow’rless to withstand.
I cannot hope to bid thee stay
But only watch thee fade away--

And yet, with but a moment past
Another comes to take thy place
As if thou were not meant to last
Thy memory to be erased...
I stand and wonder: could it be
That I am truly like to thee?

[Disclaimer: As this poem was written for class and is an attempt to emulate the style of romantic-era poets such as Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats, the sentiments of the poem’s speaker are not necessarily those of the author.]

A Wordsworthian Reflection

White blossomed branches 'cross the sky
Soft grass beneath my feet
Pale petals 'round my fingers fly
As dawn I warmly greet

The lush green stalks now nod their heads
The treetops joyful sway
All from great Nature's bosom fed
All beautiful, each day

I hear the wind's sweet, lovely song
Now ringing through the trees
I cannot help but sing along
And find my soul at peace

The sun so smiling on my face,
This world so void of pain,
So would I gladly spend my days
And never move again.


It’s sharp in all the wrong places
warped where it should be straight
stubbornly solid, unmovable,

It’s been kicked around by the world
shattered a few times,
then patched up just as good as ever--

It’s covered in unspeakable grime
hiding in the shadows,
afraid of light,

He picks it up
his hands more clean than should ever touch it,
yet he cradles it gently,
never minding the cuts it gives him

and blows on it softly:
the dust, settled into crevices and cracks,
flees his breath
leaving the slime and mud behind

so he washes it,
his tears falling like cleansing rain
he weeps and wipes away the dirt,
then lets it drip down, mingled with his blood

he breathes on it again
and watches as life creeps back in,
closing up the bitter cracks,
turning the stone to clay

Then he pushes and pulls,
smooths with scarred fingertips,
bit by bit molding my heart
to match his own.


Two Tiny Tidbits

When the sun sets on the shore
We'll run beyond the colors there
When evening comes and is no more
We'll let your wind rush through our hair


If all the world should fall away,
Beneath my feet
the solid Rock still stands
And whether it be dark or day,
Through rain or sleet
my Father holds my hands.


[author note: I found these in an old notebook of mine. the first one seems unfinished...perhaps i'll expand it sometime]