Endings arrive
farther along than you might think and
before you know it,
welcome and unwelcome,
magnificent and
melancholy.
But each bittersweet goodbye begins
new verses
of the ongoing poem,
and by grace,
no line is wasted.
Photo by Anton Darius on Unsplash
You are he who inhabits eternity, extending beyond
All stretch of imagination,
Surpassing the limits of centuries,
Yet you are more present to each moment
Than our greatest poets,
More attentive even than Tolkien.
You are time’s Alpha and Omega,
The moment’s Maker.
Photo by Clarisse Meyer on Unsplash
I bought this jacket
just over a month ago
six hours ahead,
then brought it
back in time
with me.
Today,
the weather justifies it,
the cold, crisp air reminding me
of London, as the
tweed turns my thoughts to
Lewis, Oxford,
and a good pipe,
and I long to return
six hours ahead.
Photo by Mingrui He on Unsplash
Time is a multitude of moments,
instants where things change
and things don’t change,
and all moments
matter.
Photo by Sonja Langford on Unsplash
I cannot keep time
from passing,
but I can save it,
savor it,
accept it as grace.
Photo by Hunters Race on Unsplash
I wonder how long Paul thought it would take
for the Lord to return.
Did he imagine 2,000 years of suppers?
Could he have conceived of
freedom of religion,
digital doxologies,
the never-ending writing of books?
If he were somehow
transported
to our time,
would he encourage,
rebuke,
or simply
join the work?
Photo by Geda Žyvatkauskaitė on Unsplash
Ev’ry now and then, I think
Of now in light of then,
And wonder that the cup I drink
Has overflowed again.
Now still holds its grave concerns,
But John reminded me
Of that then when the chapter turns
To bright eternity.
Photo by Mitchell Maglio on Unsplash
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.
This pain is not forever.
It will pass away in time, as
seasons change.
It will be healed,
touched by the one who
tasted death on our behalf.
Or it will be taken away
one day in glory,
when eternity outshines time.
We cannot now say which it will be,
but we can be certain of
its end, and
its redemption.
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
as i learn to walk 