Im not sure she understood
as the little kitchen
puffed out smoke thick
and rife with mourning.
breakfast, after all
had to be made
the barn animals
had to be fed
life would creak
and groan
despairingly onward
faster than her
heavy eye lids
wrought with tears
the sadness
heart full and fissured
leaking would
wash the barricades
away…im not sure she
understood
as she stood there
that fabric tears
when cut
that bacon
in simmering pan
will crisp, black and charred
that when the front
door is once again
opened the old chapter
torn, tattered and desolate
would cease to be
that she would finally
be free…
but I dont think she
understood.
Sloth
These are days
days spent with
arm over ear and temple
headache spilling
out and over the brim
of these eye lids
and the light
like splintered glass
breaks apart the
silence as it all
comes crashing in
the drapes drawn tight
but never tight enough
leak faster than
gossip told in
the presence of church ladies…
these are the days
when the world doesnt
stop rotating, while this heart
hesitating self-hating
the undulating tempest
of this temple of God
i guess this temple
needs a little work
some sprucing up wouldnt
hurt either…
still let me know
digest another pill
with cold tap water
and pay homage
to the couch surfer
one last time.
I Am me
I am closing these eyes
Breathing deeply…for a moment
I am wiping the sweat from
My brow and furrowed forehead
I am casting one more
Quarter in the wishing well
And praying at the same time
I am double tying my shoes
Extra tight and
checking my fly again
I am casting sideways glances
Into faces I’ve never known
Could they be friend or my neighbor?
I am mostly convinced
Mostly…still riding the fence
Good thing it’s not picket
I am often times wrong
But under my breath I
Will admit it to the confession
Booth of one
I am almost older than
I feel but again
Don’t count on that confession
Either…
I am more than cover art
On the front page
Waist even neck deep
In pages yet unread
I am thankful
Over and over
Again.
In His Returning (The Prodigal)
If I am lost…
If these hands
no longer
Grasp you
If these feet,
Feeble and calloused
Refuse to inch forward
Static… and alone
If this body,
Aching and groaning
Heart ache
Life ebbing away
Flowing out more
Than flowing in
If this is who
I am now…
If I am found
If I am empty
Then I am powerless
I am a broken
Vessel
Used up
Dropped and shattered
If I am lost…
Who can save?
Who can save…me?
Because if I am lost
If I am indeed static
Like an empty radio signal
If this is me…
Who will rescue this…
This mess
Who would even dare
To care?
Everything flows out of me
Except for this empty
Am I my own worst
Enemy?
Is there any hope left…
For me?
Just when I pray
For the end…
The end of this
The end of all things
Within this broken
Shattered heart
Within the shell
Of an empty man
Something happens
It’s not desperation
nor spiritual exsanguination
this mind has not
left for vacation
but something happens
from the outside
flowing life back into me
something I can’t explain
Fear replaces hopelessness
It ignites my fingertips
Ignites and increases my shallow breathing
Fear gives way to something
Long lost to me…
A warmth, blanket thick
Envelops me
I am assured
With arms around me
That I am safe
I am home
Was I lost? Was I truly found?
Then I hear his words
In my ear
A feast for me
For me? I don’t deserve anything but blame and guilt…for me? My savior
My hope…turns and says to others near
This is my son…he was lost but now he’s found
My life, my love, my joy is returned to me
Come let us help him see
Let us celebrate in his
Returning.
Pastor's Ponderings 