Oh my timid heart,
Tis passion you command.
For better or for worse,
My attention you demand.
For reason governs logic
Guiding A to B to C,
But a tug of the nostalgic
Will bend reason to its knee.
And so my timid heart
Forget not what you are.
Though you incur the hurts,
You also set the bar
For how long you shall endure
The intensity of offense,
You have power to move on
From the pains you can diminish.
So look to the horizon.
You were never meant to be
Confined, stalled, or stagnant
Go forth, my heart, run free.
Tag: peace
Broken China
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
Landon Metts – Writer, Reader, Enthusiast 