The function of a human hand?
Writing a message, making a bed,
Opening a jar, dialing a phone,
Putting on pantyhose,
Touching the face of a child,
Or a lover.
And in its absence?
Yawning space and phantom pain,
And an oddly-shaped bandage
At the end of Angie’s arm.
PFC Hernandez, home in El Paso,
Watches her family watching her,
Writing awkwardly with her left hand,
Brushing her black wavy hair,
Watching Dr. Phil
Wearing an old gray-green T-shirt
Bearing the faded words
“Proud to be a Marine.”
Gasping and choking,
She wakes from thick, dusty dreams
Of shimmering, endless sand,
Echoing hollow with hatred,
And the feared but half expected
Roar of fiery amber heat,
Breaking the angry stillness,
Searing through the night
And Angela’s right hand.
If I cry
It must be the memory
Of a skirt unlifted by a gust
To still a boy's misery
And wipe my eyes dry
For the way time sears
Us like flowers
And reaped my mother
Before I was ready to let her go.
If I cry
I cry for days she sheltered me
From a child's web of fallacy
And put her spittle on my knee
Where bruised flesh
Was a boy's view of tragedy.
I would press my face
Against her dress
And feared no goliath
If I cry
I cry for evenings on the porch
When she gathered us
Our feet white with blowing dust
And hunger like a miner
We had so little to eat some days
But she with prayers picked fruits
Of heaven's mercy
And we thankful ate together
And heard her ancient anecdotes
Of ancestors' exploits that floats
Still upon a manhood sky.
If I cry
I cry that mothers' days are meaningless
When the sight of flowers
Are frail veils upon a grave
And the customized Christmas cards
Will not sparkle her eyes
Just before the kiss upon my cheek
Honoring me for faithfulness
And knowing her love measures more
More than a day
More than the years that sums earth's decay.
If I cry
I cry for the love of my mother
For the woman and life giver
For God to bring
Order to this unruly thing
That spoons our purpose to a cup
Before the dusk with each sup
Of time, diminishing us
I cry for faith to hold my trust
Against the agony of loss
Death is a demonic disgust
That makes me long
To substitute all tears for angels song.
If I cry
Preserved my hope with brine of eye
To live again
Without death or pain
And run with my mother
Through the clapping ovation of summer rain.
Wondrous of many blessings.
Smiling never a frown.
My prayers, Lord, are suddenly being ignored.
I've taken a tumble of fallen down
Lord, my life was plain and simple
How did it come to this?
Lord, now I carry a burden so deep
A torn up life not easy to fix
Hard to get my prayers before I sleep
Bleeding only internally!
Feeling very minutely!
God, have you deserted me or is it me who deserted you?
God, my Lord, my savior, how could you abandon me?
Must I drown in my own sorrow?
Must I wake up like this today and tomorrow.
Why have you left me, or is it me who left you?
God, I need you like never before.
When I wake up,
When I head out the door.
Tormented in a mood ring of stock
Heavily my tears hit the floor.
God, do you not feel me, or is it me who no longer feel you?
God, what is your plan for me?
What things did I not see?
I asked for you to forgive me in my ways of sin.
Why do you let him provoke me?
Lord, I forbid for him to win.
Relieve me from his gutless pain.
God, do you not believe me, or is it me who no longer believe in you?
God, do you not hear my call
My pitiful excuses make me weak and small
In your eyes, I no longer feel tall
I remain cursed in every single fall
Lord, only you can break this wall
Do you not see me on my knees
Must I beg and crawl?
I am at your mercy, crying out with grief
Open the path to the lighted hall
O' Lord, the day you judge me before your throne
Please tell me it was a lesson for me to stand up on my own
God for now I will end this talk
With the dignity to never look back
I ask if you were there on my endless journey of a relentless walk?
He is above us in the clouds
run through the fields and speak of thee
He will grow roses
I will be the stem of the roses
for I shall never leave your soil
You will be the tree I grow beneath
and he will be our rain.
The warrior lays her weary head,
With heavy heart she cannot bear,
Burning tears stream down her face,
As whispered memories touch the ear.
Her armour tarnished by remorse,
Her battle-cry a wimpered row,
Her wounds, of which bleed solitude,
Will never know forgiveness now.
The song began two score ago,
When two came knocking at her door,
In need of refuge from the world,
Of that, and love, and little more.
Forced to fight for every smile,
Her only solace found in song,
She longed for love to rescue her,
And plant her where she could belong.
Jealous tongues are seldom kind,
Self-seeking hearts know nought of love,
The caged canary only sings,
When coaxed to praise from up above.
For the steely spine that now I own,
Forever shall I grateful be,
A gift from her, and from her own.
Courage mounted inwardly.
I'll not forget how I have loved thee,
And youthful memories I will prize,
Til on the shore of His forgiveness,
Whereto now, we both shall rise.
As the never world awaits me,
The lord darkness, his cloak now draped.
Haunting images that appear in dreams,
Invade the subconscious, till again I wake
Complative thoughts well before the dawn,
I walk the morning shore,
How many have stood on these same sands,
Reflecting the echoes of those no more.
And still the waves they pound the shore,
Relentless in their quest,
As they crash on the rocks with deafly roar,
White tipped and foaming zest.
Dawn breaks with gilded cotton clouds,
Waiting like courtiers to their king.
Gathering round the sovereign sun,
Bestowing his warmth on everything.
Would that life compare to the shore,
All worries get washed away.
Cares thrown to the four winds,
As on my knees I pray
© N A Windle 2009
Sometimes I look around me
and I see an empty space
where you might be playing
a sweet smile on your face
You might be calling out to me
asking me to play
and I would be there with you
and you would fill my day
At bedtime when I read to you
before I tucked you in
I would open up my arms
and you would climb right in
I would kiss your baby cheek
and tell you "you're my love"
then I would hold you close to me
and thank the Lord above...
But when I look around again
there's just an empty space
no toys scattered on the floor
no shinning little face
I'll never hear you call my name
or watch you as you grow
but you will always be with me
no matter where I go
I know there is a heaven
and I know that you are there
and you have a better life
than I could give you here
until I take my final breath
I will always pray
that through God's most precious gift
I'll be with you someday
Then I will take you in my arms
and hold you close to me
your laughter will ring in my ears
your smiling face I'll see
we will be together
my precious baby boy
and then the only tears I'll cry
will be ones of joy
I hope that you can hear me
I have so much to say
but I never had the chance
since you left me that day
for now I want to tell you
that I love you so
and I'm so very sorry
that you had to go
If you could have stayed with me
my dream would have come true
and I know I would have done
anything for you
and even though you went away
and we must be apart
I know you will always live
forever in my heart
Our lives produce such struggles
to which we must rise!
And often we find places
that from which we would run and hide.
But just remember that Your choice
will bring the happiness you seek...
Just Be the Brave one you wish
The one you still want to be.
For I am here to catch you,
to help and see you through,
within your dreams or trials of life;
whether on mountain or cliff
whichever weso choose to climb.
Remember this as you feel you are sinking.
or slipping from the walls you've been clinging.
The climb may tire the muscles
as we reach for the top,
and make us weaker in our strength
while we try to here hang on.
But if we just let go,
and trust the our heart to know what's right
we will never be led to far away;
Though even trodding in the night.
And do not fear the way back down!
For how many birds fly,
when still nested on the Ground.
And if, by chance,
your wings you fail to find...
From your fall I'll catch you,
and lead you on through time.
For how many learn to open there wings
whilst the mud stayed fixated about their feet.
The Winds of the sky need your wings to catch,
to fly you to the heavens
where the angels await you to meet,
and lead you to that better place.
A place we can not even dream.
So with the lightest breeze
they will teach us how to soar...
and lift us from our agony and woe.
Thus ending the anguish
as your wings fill there up.
to fly with them forever more.
The Ground is not safe nor is the air,
but what life would we live
if we never did dare.
Where angels fear
and devils are faint...
If Love durst not
then forever must then wait.
I remember the story
of two who fell in love...
His name became his enemy,
and He o'er her family
She did make that choice.
I would be that Romeo,
say you my Juliet...
And with you in my arms
I would die once more again.
With you I would cast off the sins,
an choose to hold you in the end.
When together,two become one,
Star crossed lovers
can find the peace of each others arms.
when as one we will fly,
Into that bitterless sky.
To be called ..
~ Grandma is a Honor ~
I have been blessed with 4 Grandchildren
~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb " He is God's Angel ~
~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~
For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
Time passed another gift to see
we are " Mickes" and Loved
Our Dad held the title in Baseball
~ that's how we roll ~
those children are Grandmas hero's
The Irish they love big and Family is everything
The brothers will protect the beautiful sister
~ as many lads will be calling ~
Every time my Grandson hits a home run
There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand
It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs
~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
either baseball or Art ~ you shall find your gift given
These children have been blessed~
~ a beauty to hard to describe
If you think not ~~ Take a look at the Mom
That girl can stop Traffic
after raising three and still~
"Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "
May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell
The day’s beginning is a special gift.
Given over a life’s eternity,
One can’t help but feel the daily change.
How often we stay into the evening. An attempt to hold
Onto the feelings of joy and elation,
That made our day so emphatically special.
Are not the future possibilities also special?
That we dream of yet other gifts,
gifts of such thought, that might also inspire elation
From giver and receiver for all eternity.
Constantly close to both, holding,
As if to say, “Don’t Ever Change.”
Does growth not require change?
Should not that change be also special?
Only if you have forgotten about holding,
The longing embrace of previous gifts,
One that requires attention for all eternity,
fueling existential feelings of elation.
Even when intentionally forgotten, holding
On to the recipient, despite elation.
At one point, this internal agony was a gift.
What could ever make this change?
This gift that could never be more special.
Now it has changed for eternity.
The re-direct of energy through eternity,
The loss of love’s forever embrace.
Love, making pain beautifully special.
Will there ever be elation?
Maybe if we only change
The way we exchange special gifts.
Our future’s eternity might fill with elation
From holding the exchange
Of something special,
… the mere appreciation of a gift..
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
On the edge
of the evacuation zone
Miyuki holds her daughter
tip-toeing in pink sneakers
her small hands fragile
to the man with the beeping wand
They were outside in the karesansui
washing and raking
rocks, when the school
then pressed into silence
voices rising inside
So now they wait with strangers
in ordered lines of sorrow
for bread and drinking water
as an adolescent, eyes downcast
sees the small pink laces and
offers up his only ration
of precious onigiri
Hooded and white masked they walk
three days and bed-less nights toward
Ishinomaki by the ocean
to family, friends, and home forever
The landscape jumbles unfamiliar
with plastic wreckage
detritus flooded in a field
where Japonica once grew
while moon-suited men
and women gather
albums for the living
And after sunset Miyuki moves
her little girl away
from a white-taped blue-bagged
toward the humming black-robed Monk, his
prayers for light
and workers burned
exposed to radiation ten
thousand times too high
And in the shadows one old man kneels
beside a fetid pool and scoops
rice to carry back to neighbours
moved to higher ground, un-opens
one last bottled spirit
bows his head and offers
Miyuki and her first and only
everything he has
At last they reach the shelter’s glow
beneath the starless robe of night
not used to wearing
Miyuki helps her daughter fold
sheets of painful news into
an origami box to hold
her last and only pair
And in the morning as they face
the stretch of road for home
to unknown love and losses there
they turn and gaze toward the east
spring’s warming breeze
to rise with brilliant red once more
new light of wondrous dawn
'karesansui' is a Japanese rock garden or 'dry landscape'. Rocks are often washed.
'onigiri' is the emergency rice being distributed to survivors in Japan.
'Japonica' is a type of (short-grained) Japanese rice.
for Debbie Guzzie's contest, 'Tribute to Japan'
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
THE HOSPITAL FAIRYLAND
They walked together, hand in hand,
Into life’s magical fairyland.
Where there was no trouble, where there was no pain.
Where life could really, begin all over again.
Where were no men in little white coats.
Forcing you all, to stuff drugs down your throats.
Forcing you to do, what you didn’t want to.
Telling you it was all for the best, for you,
People shouting, people crying.
Most of the people talking about dying.
What is this hell, we’ve all come to?
It’s called coming off drugs, we all have It to go through.
Where will it end, what will we do?
None of us really, has a clue.
We are given more pills, we are told, we have to take.
To the men in white coats, life’s a piece of cake.
We are the prisoners, they guard the doors.
Some try to creep out, on all fours.
Into hell and back, we go for a ride.
Eventually if we’re lucky, we come out the other side.
Where we can walk, hand in hand.
Into life’s magical Fairyland.
Where there is trouble, where there is pain.
But at least we can start, living again.
I do not know?
Gray is gray
Cold is cold
The beginning of winter
The winters hold....
Living but dying
Without any plans
The best that you can?!
This barren land....
Gray is gray
Cold is cold
The midst of winter
Your growing old
Another day closer
To the end, of your time!?
To the cold, inside
The dead of winter
The death of a life
The death in a world
That is dying; they cry....
Gray is gray
Cold is cold
The end of winter
The winters, toll?!
Note: A retro repose from the
Winter of 06 & 07, I believe?
"'Love,' Always," John!:) ~
Christmas, so full of life, and miracles, was found wanting this year.
A young mother sat by her daughter’s hospital bed, racked with tears.
Her daughter was sleeping way too still; her last breaths would soon come.
How could this happen to so beloved a child, she was way, too very, young.
Where was God’s wisdom, in taking a six year old, or her father as taken in war?
Church, friends, family, others, and her, had prayed till they could pray no more.
They’d ask for her: to walk in the sun, and play again, with family to hold her hand.
But her time was gone, like in an hourglass; the sand was almost, completely gone.
The mother was afraid to pray anymore… what could it accomplish any more?
What the disease hadn't taken, the cure had, nothing left, but for her soul, to soar.
But how could she hand her to the angels? Strangers had always frightened her child.
No, she sobbed, she’s way to young! Still she knew: life was never fair… or mild.
Where was God when you need him! Please don’t take her away! Her mind riled!
When suddenly, her daughter opened her eyes, and smiled her little, tired smile.
She whispered: Papa’s here… to hold my hand… He’s taking me… where I can play.
At that the fear receded… as she said she loved her… then watched her fade away.
Perhaps her prayers HAD been answered… She’d had her time with her, after all.
Now her Husband, would take her place… Perhaps it was his turn, to carry on.
Tears would still be shed… It was natural for that to happen, when this befalls.
But she knew her daughter now had everything, including The Great Father’s Love.
There are many types of Christmas magic, but as her time came to a close…
A mother’s love can’t be beat, except by God’s Love, for us all…
World is amazing,as described by philosophers
but...what actually in world is amazing
The suffering,of those caught by the waves of fate.
Why there are rich and poor,
god could have created only rich!
Then why did he do so,to make the world balanced.
Rich can serve poor by loving them and giving them,
so they are blessed with more.
Poor can survive with the help of rich.
Balance which is needed,created by our god...but,
is it followed ?
Rich are becoming more rich and poor are still in the hands of poverty
Condition of world is wonderful.
God, fooled by the rich.
The balance of world is lost..
World fears god...its shivering is heard in many parts.
Help the world god.....please..
She is a loving mother,
her pain is like no other.
Kids taken all at once away.
A price too steep to have to pay.
Holds her head up high,
when all she wants to do is die.
She thinks her pain is masked,
but as you see, its no easy task.
She's strong and still fights,
even when they say she has no rights.
She dreams of seeing her kids,
trying hard to keep the pain hid.
She goes to court and really fights,
only to come home alone and cry at night.
Still, she continues this uphill battle.
Her confidence, they constantly rattle.
Goes to work and tries to smile,
as her heart is breaking all the while.
Wish I was a much better sister,
who called and let her know I missed her.
I had my own tumultuous issues,
it was she who really needed the tissues.
I just had a crappy, low life man.
By her side her family should stand.
Instead they all give her grief.
Do they not see her pain will never be brief?
No, they all say they are sorry, but they're full of lies.
Didn't they know it was her LIFE in demise?
A better sister, I'll try to be.
Her back she never turned to me.
I hope she knows she's loved and cared for.
Her smile I'd like to see more.
I know that's no easy task.
But that I will still ask.
As they push her to the brink,
She's stronger than she ever thinks.
A combined effort for Kristy.....
Looking dead at me in this smeared mirror...
a lost man
the longer I stare
this stress abuses
my conscience with a glare
a guilty reflection warns
my mind is the prison I fear
as I long to escape
from the hell I dwell in
who have I become?
what have I done right?
crossroads appear suddenly
as fog fills the mirror tonight
darkness owning the room,
prefers I suffer slow
so I proceed with speed
because it’s the only way I know
flood my life’s hard bound chapters
while this smeared mirror reflects tears
dripping from a face
which was once filled with laughter.
Mountains crumble no more to be
Oceans of woe since you left me
Thunder rolls and my heart it breaks
Humbly life ends, my soul it quakes
Everlasting grief with no mend
Reminds me daily, it will not bend
Inconceivable, this pain I bear
My love's not gone, together we'll share
In lasting glory at Jesus' feet
Serenity and grace, oh how sweet
Salvation unites on heaven's shore
Yesterday's gone, tomorrow brings more
Only a moment in time we wait
Until we meet at heaven's gate
my heart breathes its last breath
Embraces its own death
Ready to be reborn
and made anew
Can’t live a lie
Refuse to “do”
and I’ll DIE....
Focus now on why I’ll live
And never touch the sky.
I have to forget you
I have to reject you
But I will never love anyone
like I loved you.....
I heard you whisper
and you never knew it
I wiped the tears from your eyes
But you couldn’t feel it
You’re lost and you’ll never find you
And neither will I
And I’m so sorry--
but I’m NOT.
I'll attempt to reset
Try to forget
But you know, I never will.
Be my dirty little secret
My very worst-kept secret
Sweet, smooth, beautiful poison
My infernal and endless attraction
towards complete and utter self-destruction
I fell in love with the devil
And it will take one heck of an angel
To save me from the likes of you....
my dream never to come true
Oh, I’ll never forget the times
we never shared
I’ll never forget
how you were never there
Always me, the stars, and tears
And I ask you,
what kind of life is THAT?
I have to face the facts
I don’t know what happens now
but it happens without you.
The stains will always be there
the scars will never fade
But the memory of you----
it HAS to.
I could carry the torch forever
But it would only consume me
I can’t cry another tear for you
Or I’ll dry up completely
It doesn’t affect you
and you never deserved me
You’ll go on with your life, too
All, all alone
Because you’ll only ever be in love
“Once very near the end I said, 'If you can -- if it is allowed –
come to me when I too am on my death bed.”
“Allowed!' she said. “Heaven would have a job to hold me;
and as for Hell, I'd break it into bits.”
Oh God, God, why did you take such trouble to force
this creature out of its shell if it is now doomed to crawl back
-- to be sucked back -- into it?
~ C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed ~
The division should be acute, the before her, the with her, the after her,
Yet there is this constant rattling of doors, though they remain locked,
in theory. I think of her as gone until I turn a page and read a passage
of pompous dialogue and she returns, My Joie de Vivre, entertaining me
with that puckish wit, unabashed. She smiles in the dusk with crusading
colours that bend dark horizons, changing clouds unexpectedly. What was I
before Joy*? Content, pleasant and productive. But was I alive, aware of
Life, its blissful rhythms? Irony defined: the heart which awakened stone
no longer beats. Finally, I understand. Lessons are sharp things which
infect both fresh and aging amputations. What do I do with this knowledge?
It is like learning a language that is no longer spoken, a long monologue
unbearably forlorn, painful. Faith dismisses hauntings, yet she does so
in daily degrees, oh, the sweet ghosts that peer from those notes, my name
underscored in margins. Why is there only one glove in the sewing box?
Agony hunts me in the garden. Perfume almost, but not quite a match.
Some rooms have snares. I dare not open a kitchen drawer. Pain waits there.
The specter of my former self, a staunch gent, so sure of Heaven's role,
that cold bloke follows me in the shadows, land of man’s rage and despair.
There is no pretty death, no words can comfort the ravaged left behind,
There is no poetry in our departing; I only pray there is Godspeed in mine.
*Written Nov 4, 2012
Joy Gresham Davidman, American poet, and C.S. Lewis, English writer and Oxford scholar, were good friends and married solely for the purpose to keep Joy in England (contested). But love came, as it has a habit of doing, when least expected, after Joy was diagnosed with terminal cancer. There love was true and deep, and her death shattered Lewis. His book, A Grief Observed explores his anguish and a Christian’s questions which arise during times of suffering. The film, Shawdowlands, is based on the biography, Through the Shadowlands: The Love Story of C. S. Lewis and Joy Davidman. Lewis died 3 years after Joy. The above poem is a conjecture on my part, as no one can truly know what lies in another's heart, alive or otherwise.
Iam Hungry...Thirst is uncontrollable
It nearly kills me,Cries a poor one..
A dirty wasteland that is his home
but its a heaven for him,His mom
sick in the bed,He is handicapped.
Worms are eating his skinny body,NOBODY to help him!
He is helpless...he want to live
But waiting for death,Help him god i pray to you....
Where has dad gone, momma dear?
Hush, my little lamb.
Your dad's gone to the thicket dear
And mad old Abraham
That man went early this grim morn, and took his sharpened knife
And with him took his own first born, to offer up his life
With servants and with firewood, both, they journeyed to Moriah
And on the hillside there they built an altar and a fire
And Isaac, when he heard the plan, went willingly, it's odd
That he should let that daft old man, so worship his cruel god.
Your father, he was passing by, and heard but could not see
And foolishly could not deny his curiosity
So closer did your father scramble peering through the thorns
Unaware of how the brambles tangled with his horns
Just to see a crazy man who planned to kill his kin
Your father did not understand the danger he was in
For then again that mad old man started hearing voices
His god was speaking to the loon and giving him new choices
And so his plan to slay the boy came about to falter
And Abraham, he took your pa and dragged him to the altar
But that was never fair, mama, can you tell me why
When Isaac he was all prepared and well prepared to die
And all had been decided on, so what cruel trick mama
Was played upon that grand old ram, who was my own papa?
Life is not fair, my little lamb, nor is it like to change
And fate plays tricks on all of us, both sinister and strange
So you take care, my little lamb, with this advice from me
Do not visit places where you know you should not be
The moral of this story dear, is take heed of the odds
And stay away from two-leggies worshipping their gods
When I was very young,
Dad and I would fly my kite.
So one day I finally asked him,
"how does God make wind and light?"
"Only God can answer that."
He told me with a smile.
"So ask him when you get there!"
I nodded, then played a while.
When we first turned sixteen,
my best friend got a brand new car.
We had plans for Friday night,
but Wednesday, she didn't get far.
I cried when I hung up the phone,
"Daddy! Why my best friend?"
He came and sat down on my bed,
as we talked about the end.
"Only God can answer that."
He told me with a smile.
"So ask him when you get there."
Then I laid and cried a while.
Further down the road,
I stood dressed up in white.
The night that I'd been waiting for,
I'd found my Mr. Right!
I asked, "Daddy why am I so blessed?
I seem to have it all!
When some just have no luck,
they don't have much at all."
"Only God can answer that."
He told me with a smile.
"So ask him when you get there."
Then he walked me down the aisle.
Then thirty years flew by.
Two jobs, Dad's cancer, and my baby.
and Daddy's time grew shorter,
and every day became a maybe.
Then sadly the Dr. said "its time to say goodbye "
and by his bed I stood.
I just couldn't believe it,
that he'd be gone for good.
"Daddy why do you have to go?"
I asked him as I sobbed.
I knew it was his time,
but still, my heart felt robbed.
"I'll ask him when I get there..."
he told me with a smile.
"If I even care! I'll meet Jesus in a while!
I know you think that this will hurt you,
but these days are grains of sand,
and heaven is the Ocean!
We'll be together once again."
The meadow's radiance gradually dimmed
and evening littered far and wide
it encouraged the unfamiliar
and everything uncertain.
The night accelerated sounds of anticipation
as a thousand strangers loomed
and I thought him to be a foreigner
until he glanced twice
as his smile slightly dropped
astonishment plagued him
Insecurity encompassed me
as I turned away in doubt
betrayed by the numinous...
that often guides my thoughts
He left with lady and child, to merge
With a thousand anticipating strangers
and the northern lights sheltered me
the explosions across the sky
gave satisfaction -to so much expectation
that unexpectedly emerged
Then the night was briefly soundless;
the applause prolonged
as were my duties...by my immersion
and within what felt like only seconds
he was passing,
through a thin pane of glass
all I could yield was a smile,
a smile to the incredulity within his eyes.
Enclosed with the evening...was the meadow,
and the difference was indistinguishable.
The calmness settles in now
with acceptable disquietness
as we return to living life
with one less earthly vessel
dwelling lovingly among us.
Silence reigning for moments
as our minds and spirits search
for solace in numbing grief
while shadows from the past
run a perpetual playback
of memories, now bittersweet.
In the stillness of this new day
may we find peaceful comfort
as our feet search for stable
ground and our hearts struggle
with our own personal storms
Remembering God’s grace
and Dad's stepping stone of Faith
I wrote this for my family this morning after we layed my father-in-law to rest yesterday. Such a faithful man in Christ. His earthly presence will be missed, but his memories will forever be with us.
The man with the plastic bug in his head
monopolized my dreams last night
in the place that the horsefly of my dignity
finally surrender to the impresario without a fight.
Seven days and 7 hours transplanted in my memorabilia
reminding the rustiness of the purple child
flatterers danced beneath the clouds of melancholy
and morality spreader the master plan inside my mind.
The disinheritance of my immortality the final day
discouraged my desire to see the forbidden love
restored my will to escape
manipulated the deep of the uncertainty above.
Released from the plastic bug in my head
try to cover my yellow child in the purple sky
seven days and seven hours before he dies.
Sometimes it is so hard to see the beauty in Your work;
the joy of life, the twists and turns and each and every quirk.
You gave us love and joy and hope and all we could attain.
We wonder why You gave this life that causes so much pain.
This master plan, this grand idea, escapes me on this day;
forgive me Lord, I have to go, it hurts too much to pray.
You took us in and sheltered us and showered us with love;
Your grace and joy and peace and hope rained down from up above.
They say that faith will somehow help me find a way to cope;
they say these angry tears I shed will blossom into hope.
I’m scared and lost, I’m without hope, please help me find my way;
Please tell me, Lord, I need to know, why it hurts too much to pray.
My mind knows that I need you now, a fact I won’t deny,
But, when I try to think it through, my heart just asks You “why?”
I’m sorry, Lord, for doubting You, I know You are the way;
I just can’t seem to get the hope I need to start this day.
If only I could, somehow, find a way to find Your way,
Maybe with Your help it wouldn’t hurt too much to pray.
Please help me find a way to bring my heartache back to You.
You are my one salvation now, my hopes they seem so few.
They tell me to have faith in You and leave my pain behind;
This I would most surely do to gain some peace of mind.
A quest for faith, so strong and fierce, consumes me on this day:
Please hear me Lord, I need some faith, for this I…well, I pray.
Please help me Lord, I need some faith, for this I…well, I pray.
They are all in my head, all day and all night
I hear them talking, telling me something's not right
They come from all directions, my ears never rest
recalling words from the ones I thought I knew best
My family my friends, those closet to me, telling
me things I refuse to see.
They've been buried within so long and so deep
like angry little children refusing to sleep
Some yell loudly, some whisper soft
they speak of the times and the dreams that were lost
and all these times I've refuse to hear, from people
and places I held so dear.
I've been so let down, my pride has been shattered
My heart has been broken, as if I didn't matter
It's a harsh lesson these voices within
makes me realize I've only one true friend
Thank you lord for opening my eyes, to people
that hurt me and tell me lies.
God's comfort and love will pull me through
from all the bad things these voices do.