Poetry

Day 1: It’s Time

/ joethewaller / 1 Comment

It’s time to make the time for art again,
To see the sacrifice as offering.
Adorn the worlds without and worlds within.
Retrace the shapes of joy and suffering
And show them mingled, mangled, and made new
As only your soul can, and it will be
A blessing to yourself and others too,
A testament that truth still sets us free.
You feel your work is meager. It is so.
There are far finer pens and fairer lines.
But e’en the best are flawed, and still they show
The glory of the Lord. They still are signs
Reminding downcast eyes to look ahead
And giving hungry bellies fresh-baked bread.

Photo by Andrik Langfield on Unsplash

This is the first of 30 poems written this past November in response to prompts. In most cases, my poems were untitled, so I just used the prompt as the title.

Reconciliation

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In fear, we burn down bridges, build up walls.
We work against the good that you intend.
Yet you account for failures, fights, and falls
And bring good anyway, and you can mend
Our rent relationships and broken hearts,
Redeeming what was ruined by these hands.
We shatter graces, scatter all the parts;
You hold all things together in your plans.
Lord, you give purpose even to our pain.
The love we tear asunder, you renew.
You see the growth to come from all the rain,
And you sustain us till we see it too,
Till chosen exile ends in holy rest
And dispossession’s fin’lly dispossessed.

Photo by Aleksandra Sapozhnikova on Unsplash

Anxiety II

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I cannot change biology, I know.
I cannot strip the seasons of their weight.
I fight and fret to get my mind to slow.
I will not e’er be freed this anxious state.
My life is often tension, sometimes ease.
I wrestle with my measure of control.
But God reigns over all my -ologies,
And he remains the Shepherd of my soul.
I do not want this lot, but it is mine
To steward till the Master comes again.
I may now shudder, but I also shine
With grace sufficient from the Light of men.
My mind and heart malfunction. He redeems
And leads my anxious mind by peaceful streams.

Photo by guille pozzi on Unsplash

Anxiety

/ joethewaller / 4 Comments

Unsafe, unsettled, captive to my mind,
Caught by impending ambiguity,
Lost in a steady rain of thoughts unkind,
Just out of reach of true reality.
I know the signs and triggers, subtle clues
That signal shifted thinking, but I feel
A restlessness and see in starker hues
That taint the truth and dull my sense of real.
This state distorts perspective, leaving me
The least equipped to navigate the haze.
My greatest need is objectivity,
But I stay subject to uncertain days.
But truth is truth and real is real despite
My inability to see the light.

Photo by Hamish Weir on Unsplash

Mercy, Grace, and Love

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I have known hope and known despair,
The warming and the chilling air,
And I have found that you are there
With mercy, grace, and love.

I have succeeded and have failed,
Have waited patiently, have railed
‘Gainst you, who held me e’en when veiled,
With mercy, grace, and love.

I’ve witnessed victory and loss,
The finest paint, the cheapest gloss,
And o’er it all still stands the cross
In mercy, grace, and love.

So should my path lead up or down,
To unknown name or world renown,
Remind me that you wear the crown
With mercy, grace, and love.

Photo by Hillie Chan on Unsplash

Easter Sunday

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Another quiet Sunday afternoon.
Still filled with fears and questions, but I know
Your stories take their time, so maybe soon
The way will be revealed, and I will go.
Till then, I wait and think about that morn
That guaranteed our hope, the end of night
At his rekindled light, when all the scorn
Seemed scant as those two Marys caught the sight
Of resurrection, life born out of death.
Their hope and joy once buried was renewed.
Their Jesus breathed with deep undying breath.
Forevermore, the darkness is subdued.
At last, the weight of ages finds release.
After the darkest day, unending peace.

Photo by J Lee on Unsplash

Holy Saturday

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Another day, another coffee shop,
Longing for resurrection, wondering
If they knew they were waiting, that the stop
Was long expected, that the thundering
Was temporary. Could they fathom hope
Persisting past the ending of the dream?
Was life from death a long-forgotten trope?
Was this beyond God’s power to redeem?
Or worse, was this his will? Could they not see,
Deceived by words so many had refused,
Tricked by the man—for man he seemed to be?
Others were healed, but he died bloodied, bruised.
The silent tomb was sealed. What would they do?
Was anything they once believed still true?

Photo by Anandu Vinod on Unsplash

Good Friday

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Another Friday, overcast and grey.
I sit alone to study but reflect
On that dark Friday years ago, the day
The light went out, when we failed to detect
The purpose through the pain that grew so great
All comforts were eclipsed, and in the ache
Of ignorance and fear, the hour grew late
Then passed for hope of rescue. Then the break
Of heart when his heart stopped and he grew still
And death remained what it had always been.
Perhaps one day the Lord would still fulfill
His word, but not this day. This day, our sin
And shame were at their height, and we below
The storm clouds wondered, “Where else shall we go?”

Photo by Dylan McLeod on Unsplash

Truth is not so broken

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My mind disfigured your face in my mind,
Painted piercing eyes, uncompassionate,
Shaming, in place of those you said I’d find.
My view of you and you were disparate
Persons, known too well and not well enough.
“You” imposed a self-imposed prison cell,
Held hopeless standards, always called my bluff.
I was always guilty, not free, unwell.
Thus I assumed from this false gospel, lie
Of law’s freedom. Truth is not so broken.
You are love. Your yoke brings rest, peace, a sigh
Of relief, rooted in words you’ve spoken:
“I have overcome the world.” Now I see
Your overcoming work extends to me.

Photo by Jaleel Akbash on Unsplash