Past the veil are shadows known,
Alive despite intention.
Without denial they exist,
Beyond mere recognition.
Yet these dark imprints signal not,
Imperative malevolence.
Sometimes darkness is the impetus,
Of serene nostalgic silence.
And while discerning which of these,
Awaits us at the thought,
We may find solace knowing that,
Villains tarry not,
In queries of the should-haves,
Or repentant genuflect,
Our heart exposed, amidst our woes,
A longing to be blessed.
Author: landonmetts
Writer; Author: "The Vapors: A Short Story Thriller & Selected Poetry" and "Pursuing Wisdom: Unmasking Theology"
Oh The Road Familiar Known
Oh the road familiar known,
I glance in recollection.
A wanderer strides alone,
Intent in his reflection.
I ask in haste, “Are you the one?”
He nods in affirmation.
My shoulders sink in bitter relief,
At odds with each sensation.
“Oh the road familiar known.”
I cry to my companion.
With half a smile, he nods again,
Suggesting his compassion.
I wait with longing for a word,
Some response to trepidation,
He simply stands in front of me,
Not changing his expression.
“What will you?” I ask, with irritation,
To break his piercing gaze,
“Let go,” he says with forlorn caution,
Then points the opposite way.
“But, oh the road familiar known,”
I cry again in earnest.
“Tis the past, the seeds are sown,
Before you lies your interests.
For if you tarry any longer,
You will not be fit to see,
The difference between what’s behind you,
And what you’re meant to seek.”
“But oh, the road familiar known.”
I meekly say in sorrow.
He shakes his head and turns away,
Heading for the morrow.
I’m left alone, now knowing truth,
Confined and pertinacious,
Hoping for some validation,
So vainly efficacious.
The Meaning of Christmas
A cup of Hot Chocolate,
With a rich, yummy scent,
Cookies in the oven,
Anticipation of the event.
“Baby, It’s Cold Outside,”
Has just come on cue,
The Elf on the Shelf,
Watches all in his view.
The lights twinkle faithfully,
Upon the great tree,
With ornaments representing,
Fond and precious memories.
The stockings dangle,
Waiting to be filled,
The spirit of Christmas,
Continues to build.
And across the room,
Upon a velvet-dressed table,
Is a manger depicting,
A worn, crowded stable.
And within, all the pieces,
Pale at the sight,
Of the baby, Immanuel,
Our Lord Jesus Christ.
There are so many joys,
Christmas can bring,
But at the heart must remain,
Thankful praise to our King.
For with Him, the season,
Ends not in the Spring
The joy of His birth,
Lasts for all eternity.
Lessons From The World
The lessons from the world,
Are hard and tough to bear,
And ne’er abstract from God,
They are filtered by his care.
But confusing it may be,
When the enactors of the trial,
Show hate and malice freely,
Their tact and method vile.
It’s then we look to God,
And mix the lesson with this method,
Supposing he’s forsaken us,
Like a world who’s not invested,
In our quest to be like Christ,
A journey without end,
No, he gave his Son for us,
And those he loves he disciplines,
We must grow by what we learn,
But sternly separate,
From the understanding of this world,
A wisdom fueled by hate.
Rejoicing in our sufferings,
Mayhap they be deserved,
But knowing that he loves us,
Through all we shall endure.
The Christian Bubble
There is a dome,
Under which contains,
A Christian home,
Beautiful yet strange.
The inhabitants vary,
In weakness and strength.
They are constantly wary,
Of what outsiders think.
Yet within this bubble,
Often worship will shine,
And influence troubled,
Hearts to incline.
They act so stable,
And socially secure,
They seek to enable,
Generations to be pure.
Wanderer, pass through.
Make a stop at this hamlet.
Let their healing renew,
But halt not your transit.
For the Gospel is out there,
Amongst thistles and thorns,
Amidst the thieves and the fallen,
Amidst the confused and the scorned.
Do not condemn,
The settled fellowship.
Pray for them,
For a faith dynamic.
And never stop coming,
To their place of meeting,
For the Lord is there,
Offering rest for the weary.
Introspection
Stillness, silence, a somber gaze,
Three strands in one accord,
Melancholy utility,
In reflection of the adored.
And when said tenant afforded this state,
Arrives upon our visage,
Ne’er mockery should any relate,
Nor their image should we pillage.
For in but moments shall we be,
Candidates in succession,
By circumstance quite affected,
Thus instigating our reflection.
Let us not have one day pass,
Where such moments are ignored,
Sentiment is built to last,
And weather all the storms.
If we abandon introspection,
No solace shall there be,
No foundation will exist,
To enjoy the memories.
Oh Lord, Where were you?
Oh Lord, Where were you,
When the villains came out,
When the evil afflicted,
And fear led to doubt?
Oh Lord, Where were you,
When they boarded the planes
When children lost parents
And death fell like rain?
Oh Lord, Where were you?
With a gun held high,
He entered the school,
And took their sweet lives.
Oh Lord, Where were you,
In the years of abduction,
While their families awaited,
Any kind of instruction?
Oh Lord, Where were you?
We ask and don’t know,
It shakes our faith,
Amidst fear and woe.
Oh Lord, Where were you?
We assume, Lord of Hosts,
That you were the foe,
Who neglected your post.
Oh Lord, Where were you?
We ask, blind and lost,
We can barely conceive,
The measure of sin’s cost.
Oh Lord, Where were you,
May be the wrong plea,
In this fear stricken world,
Oh Lord, Where were we?
Oh Lord, Where were you?
Surely there at the towers,
Under desks at the school,
Where the victims would cower.
Oh Lord, Where were you?
Always with us within,
Preparing and determining,
When this madness will end.
Passions Swayed
A fight against the stream,
Is not certain to entail,
A cold and stubborn heart,
Or a vain, malicious rebel.
So too it would be rash,
To generalize the other way,
And assume the rogue is just,
Making choices as he may.
The key is not the fight,
Tis conviction from within,
Inspired by the Holy Spirit,
Or temptation from Satan.
Thus aspire to know,
What forces influence,
The passions of the heart,
And flow without hindrance.
For we live within a time,
None thinks himself a pawn,
Humanism at its worst,
Ground the enemy may have won.
First we must admit,
Our weakness to this theme,
A plight of self-delusion,
Ignoring our tendencies.
Choice is not removed,
There is responsibility,
But we are not as objective,
As we think we may be.
Kingdom Fellowship
There are times that friendship,
Is unbarred and flows freely,
No oddities or hindrances,
No confinement of propriety.
This, the goal of fellowship,
Though torrid life confines,
By the loyalties we make,
To priorities ill-defined.
In these precious moments,
Let us with great excitement,
Embrace our brother and sister,
With joy and fulfillment,
For this is a shadow,
Of our coming home,
Where love everlasting,
Is continually sown.
Can we, beyond what is natural,
Today seek to be,
Instruments of Christ’s love,
Instigators of unity?
The Constant Shadow
Ascending from the cave,
I spy a shadow of former self.
A marionette without a sound,
Of hope and peace bereft.
And thus begins the shadow’s rise,
Engulfing my firm-footed base.
“Do not look back”, my sullen heart cries,
“And be doomed a pillar of waste.”
And so I shut my eyes,
Letting memory thus replace,
And dare not to dwell upon the past,
That these encounters be met with haste.
But I did see one thing I cannot put away,
A chip upon my shoulder,
That I noticed still remains.
It seems beyond position,
Or stature socially,
I have always felt subject,
And hindered by frailty.
In youth, I feared authority
As authority, I was intense,
As employee, I feared the manager
As manager, I feared impotence.
And thus the cycle continues,
I am constantly afraid.
Over, under, forward, behind,
Unsettled and dismayed.
I must attempt to break,
And shatter this illusion,
That my circumstances decide,
My attitude, is a delusion.
