Once S h a t t e r e d

There was so much  f e a r  welling up inside
and so much  a n g e r  just beneath the surface.
My lungs struggled for air but there was no
o x y g e n
so I tried to breathe the  p o i s o n
but  p a i n  flooded in and started to
t e a r  me apart when You came in
and whispered
to my broken  h e a r t  and put the pieces back
t o g e t h e r .

I thought the poison made me  w h o l e
but You let me taste  t r u t h
and drowned me in Your overwhelming cup of  m e r c y .
I hungered for  l o v e  and  g r a c e  I didn’t deserve,
and it’s unfathomable, the true  l o v e  You have for
such a broken thing like me. You had it all yet You wanted my
h e a r t .
I was a slave to sin but
You adopted me and broke my  c h a i n s  and set me  f r e e
and now I am a daughter of the
O n e  T r u e  K i n g .

You gave Your all
and died for me
and lived for me
and made me  b e a u t i f u l
even though I was once
s h a t t e r e d . . . .

You made me  w h o l e .

Fate and Time

The end was near,
and she could tell by the way the curtains swayed,
although there was no wind,
and how the ink spilled,
although the table did not tilt,
and how the embers would not die,
although the fire had faded away.

She could tell by how the clock made not a sound,
although the hands continued to tick dreadfully slow,
droning on and on noiselessly,
and when the hour struck
the bells stirred but remained deathly silent.
There was no laughter, no smiles in the palace,
only nervous chuckles and brief glances,
but no one told her why.

Her eyes rarely left the clock as it droned on,
her hands folded prettily in her lap,
dress billowed out at her feet but even the fabric appeared
dull.
Her fingers would occasionally stroke
unkempt blonde hair,
for why bother with a brush?

The hour was near,
and though they told her not
something deep inside of her knew.
Her pricked conscience cradled her heart with fear,
yet her face remained blank as she gathered her courage
and thrust it at her despair,
raised her chin,
and all the while her eyes refused to leave
that fateful, soundless clock.


This is my entry for Allie’s Thursday Poetry Challenge.

Her Fire

water quenches fire.
her dreams are washed away.

dying flames hiss in defeat.
sinking down, the inferno is devoured.

angry tears slip down her face;
her eyelids fall and catch them.

why is she not strong enough?
her fingers stroke flames, but water prevails.

her anger has always fueled her.
she gathers it and lashes out.

still, her flames dissipate.
maybe her heart is not as angry as her mind.

anger is not the answer, water whispers.
her stubbornness holds her back.

her feet are planted in her ashes.
the water cries for alliance!

in her eyes, weakness is water.
if her flames die, if she succumbs, will she too be weak?

oceans rise;
her inferno dies.

the water cries, again.
will you be my friend?

but her anger and loathing is all she has.
how can she let it go? if revenge is her life, will she lose it?

your dreams speak of darkness, water whispers,
this path will lead you to your death.

but, oh, she is weak.
her fire runs on a fuel that will only get her so far.

and as she dies,
the water cries.

won’t you roar your flames for light?
fire cannot not feed on darkness.

fire girl, don’t lose your spark.
come and fight with me tonight.

she’s fought the water for too long,
because she thought it would bring her to ruin.

and it does, in a way;
avengeful means are washed away.

all along, she’s blamed the light
for darkness that entered her life.

forgiveness whispers so bittersweet in her ears;
she turns her face to humble blue eyes.

water and fire collide, strengthened,
hand in hand:

unburnable,
unquenchable,

to the battlefield together.
she learns who the real Enemy is.

anger is not the way to live.
revenge does not bring joy.

forgiveness is a way;
light leads to a better place.

no longer will she hide her face.
now her fire roars for the light.


(Inspired by a novel yet to be published, hopefully in a year or two….)

Fighter

she’s a fighter
because she doesn’t give up when the hard days come,
and the tear tracks are still fresh on her face.
she’s a fighter
because she doesn’t give up when her dreams are shattered,
and her heart’s been battered all over again.
she’s a fighter
because she doesn’t give up when there’s nothing left but the broken pieces,
and she gives it all to God anyway.

he’s a fighter
because he doesn’t give up when they turn their backs,
and he’s left alone with insults ringing in his ears.
he’s a fighter
because he doesn’t give up when his hands are empty,
and he has nothing but trust to lean on.
he’s a fighter
because he doesn’t give up when life turns and slaps him hard across the face,
and he still praises God in the storm.

you’re a fighter
because you don’t give up when the battle is rough,
and you still know how to count your blessings.
you’re a fighter,
because you don’t give up when all your efforts look like failures,
and your only refuge is the moment your knees touch the ground.
you’re a fighter
because you don’t give up when your world comes crashing down,
and you’ve got a fire burning bright in your soul.