demons and Divinity

I hear the demons

demand –

“who are you, little human,

that you dare think you could ever

change?”

But my dear –

they have the question twisted

all wrong.

Now it is I who ask you,

“Who do you think I am,

that I could not transform

you?

Who do you think you are,

that you could never be

so transformed?”

Fragility

Must we summon such strength
to reveal our fragility?
Surely a recklessness beyond reason
must be required to acknowledge it -
for who would willingly disclose,
that our weak and supposedly
feeble spirits are in fact
beyond our control?
 
Such bold and foolish
wisdom which you have shown at last,
my failed impostor!
What a fearful and desperate
courage has filled you,
my friend!
 
You have gained my undying admiration.

Guard Your Peace

Guard well your peace, child
this rising fire in your heart.
And do not chain it to any supposed fortress
for such creatures are not meant to be tamed.
Watch for it, follow it,
demand its shelter, yes,
dare to defy even your own contempt
of such need as you have discovered
in your own soul!
 
The morning sunshine
holds no malice toward you, but even so . . .
have a care for your life.
It depends on Him just as desperately
now, as in yesterday’s battle.
Indeed, perhaps more so.
 
The ghosts hide from the light,
but you know not where.
So mark the sun’s rising. Fix your gaze
there and turn not away, turn not
away from your Life.
 
Guard well your peace, child,
yes, make war to remain within its borders!
There is no better land
where you may rest
your weary heart.

Pocket Dreams

I have an acorn in my pocket.
I like the way it feels -
soft, and round, and smooth, and 
small
that sort of thing in your pocket
which no one need know about -
but you like it just the same.
 
You may laugh at this
“childish treasure”
but let me tell you that acorns -
they have dreams.
They have oak - sized dreams
and if you ventured to climb them
you would be scared spitless.
 
So laugh, if you must,
but I will laugh better.
For I have acorns in my pocket -
oak trees rooted
in my soul.

Dreams of the Forgotten Boy

If this tomb could reveal
its secrets
and this stone be rolled away
I wonder, what 
would they disclose
warily, almost distrustful
of my open hands.
 
What boyish dreams must lay here,
long buried 
behind this formidable wall!
Visions which life
has granted, or indifferently
denied.
 
This much I know,
dreams never truly die.
And so if a single
dream
could slip through
your suffocating pain
I wonder,  what
would it say?

Harbor

O my soul never forget!
He is real and alive and
strong, more willing to help you
than your mortal mind can fathom.
When you sleep, child
do you fear for the morning
as though it will not come, or
that maybe - you will not awaken?
 
Then let your soul rest
with such assurance and more,
for you can trust Him.
Your God is well able
to guide your little ship into harbor.
Indeed, He has done this
all along.

Words, Part 2

 So… you like it do you? This
“Jeg er glad i deg.”
Well it’s true.
I am glad in you, yes
I delight in you, My quiet child.
You are the one who I sing over,
rejoicing.
Your trembling form I cradle
in My hands -  do you not know dear,
they are as gentle as they are strong?
Let My song be your lullaby
and My arms your resting place this night,
and even now
you may have perfect peace.

Words

I am captivated by words, 
no matter their birthplace.
And so she tells me how to say
"I love you -"
"Jeg er glad i deg," or rather,
"I am glad in you."
Against words of such simple
yet deep affection, my native English
is left a pauper.

Hope

"Hope is the thing with feathers..." 
What a spunky little chap.
I have no question as to its identity,
only a chickadee would dare to sing
the cold away. But please, do not
cage the poor creature.
No, let it fly - up and away
and back again.
If you wish, build a birdhouse by your window
and that tenacious, tiny thing with
feathers
may come and sing for you.

~Thanks to Emily Dickinson for the inspiration 😉

Midnight Confessions

Midnight must be the time 
when all the stories I cannot utter
come out from the shadows
to proclaim themselves from the rooftops.
Sleep, is free
to roam where she will, while I
am allowed only the posture
of peaceful rest.
Sometimes,
even that pittance is more
than I can bear.