No longer shall I tarry
In fearful wilderness,
Afraid, alarmed, and wary
By the burdens that I carry,
Perspective quite contrary
To desirable bliss.
I let the china fall,
Having want to be reformed.
It shatters in the hall.
I’m judged and shunned by all.
I brace against the wall,
Enduring the great storm.
I peek a careful squint
To see if I survived,
And maybe catch a glimpse
Or possibly a hint,
A life beyond incident,
Where peace may be derived.
And I’m pleasantly greeted
By a warm and tranquil scene,
No scoffers have entreated,
No ambulance is needed,
Nor am I impeded
From existing as I deem.
So I gather up the pieces
Of the shattered, broken idol.
My confidence increases
As practicality releases,
My consternation ceases
And frees my timid soul.
That Precious Laugh
That precious laugh has caught my ear,
Interrupting my endeavor.
I rise, move closer, perchance to hear
New sounds you may deliver.
And hark! Again, a jubilant cackle
emits from your sweet face.
The task I’d meant to formerly tackle
Is easily replaced
By the impetus to lift you high
And twirl you all around,
And the joy of watching as you try
To articulate your sounds.
Oh precious child you have me.
Your joy shall be my plight,
And nothing will deter me
From engaging in your life.
I’ll applaud your successes
And cry with you in pain,
Watching as God blesses
Amidst the pouring rain.
For nothing less compels me
Than to see your joy fulfilled.
Your laugh, a start before me,
From here, our love, we’ll build.
A Rising Tide
Do you feel it in the air,
A sense of something coming?
The likes of which you can’t compare,
An insatiable longing?
A growing wave forms steadily,
Just breaking the horizon.
The tide comes in readily
Beyond the bounds of reason.
Oh beckoning breeze, you welcome me
Preemptive of fruition.
Anticipation builds frantically,
A mix of hope and tension.
Some may dread and fear unknown
Recourse of such submission.
They hide away all alone,
Afraid of vain delusion.
But no, not I, my purpose forms.
I’ll hope for nothing less
Than providence amidst the storms.
My life, my King shall bless.
What Virgil and Longfellow Can Teach Us About Pain
“Through pain I’ve learned to comfort suffering men.” Virgil, The Aeneid.
Sometimes rocky roads can leave us feeling broken and alone, not knowing all the while that they are shaping us to be better men and women for those the Lord puts before us. As Longfellow says:
“Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.” Longfellow, A Psalm of Life
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Reflection of the Dark
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.
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.
Landon Metts – Writer, Reader, Enthusiast 