A Prayer for Morgan

Father will you take us
against Your chest
we cannot walk alone
let not our mouths be false and empty
and our hands Your only home-
take us
against your chest
carry us
each in one arm-
safe and warm
loved and satisfied
that we may
hold each other
against Your chest

A Stolen Life

Let me be a shadow-

Luring in love and lavishly pure

Build me and fold

Cut and combine me

Tedious and taxing

Until I, on this dim gravel spot

Shall be your image-

A shadow of Your light

The Man Part Six: Bosom

Can I rest here,

I plead,

in the bosom

of this-

perhaps I can

nuzzle further-

if you allow.

The fingertips along 

my back, tightly wound

and white- knuckled

are sweaty and slowly slipping

Do not let me go! I shout

into your bosom's base

I sob but do not feel 

the tears-  attached they stay

to your skin,

where shall they go-

if the hands should let

me go

my mind feels this is right

that time is long 

overdue

but my heart it

 shutters and heaves

and collides with the past, 

I know this bosom

I rest has made me

well and strong- this little girl, 

never planned to be, 

has become much,

you see, 

arrived with a beating drum

that never ceased to play

booming

ba-rum-ba-rum

the melody that grew her,

shaped her like clay

and moved her feet, 

like sea grass along the Atlantic shore,

to dance

a marvelous and lasting dance

she shall never droop, it seems

or be withered through and through

a rose among the forest shadows

above them, she sways

flitted and flittered

her self reaches

far beyond these

soft bosom walls

He who planned has not 

mistaken

time alarms, hands release

beyond the bosom,

He calls

I, The Man, must

go

The Man Pt 5: Chains

The Man Part Five: Chains

My feet no longer shall drag beneath me-
Release these roots that have grown me from the dirt
And though my toes forever be filthy- bent- and rotten
The flesh I have come to loathe- take it
Release me from this ditch- I weep-
A bent knee is the least of me, oh Father, let me dance
As tears and sweat fall together- never returning to where they fall
But even in the whistle of my hair- music for all to hear- see me
Set around me an angry crowd, let them spit and shout- rhythm to my feet
Join me then, take my hand- in stride we must go
Bind me in your hand, attach my feet to yours- for we shall dance together
Darkness chains me no more-

Poetry Devotion Series Sneak-Peek

The World Has a Grip
Poetry Devotion Series:
 "The Man Part Three: Concrete Treasures"

Poem Focus Lines: 1-7 & 16-29

The sparkles. The city. The likes. The man. The award. The money. The woman. The look. The grade. The applause.
The world... What does it want from you?
Perhaps the more important question is, what do YOU want from the WORLD? Now, I ask this question to myself and the first thing that pops into my head is my ever-growing graduation wish list. It grows longer and longer as I begin to want more and more. I see this on her and oh, I just have to have it. Or all the cool university students have... And I have to have that, too. The world and everyone and everything in it seems to tell me that my wants are needs. I don't want it all, I need it all. Makes sense, right?
We all have our desires, our wants from the world. They are practically inevitable because everyday of our lives the world says be skinnier, be prettier, be smarter, be faster, be more popular and only THEN will you find happiness. So, we lower our heads, grab some gear and begin to "tunnel". We dig through the dirt much like "worms", inching painstakingly up towards "oxygen" or in our case, our desire(though the world makes it seem as essential as oxygen). We spend hours, days, months, whatever it takes to get there all the while thinking of the happiness and joy it will bring in the end.
Whether the journey was long or short, if we tunnel hard enough, we will get there.
We break through the dirt, we achieve our goal and grab onto it like it was the only floaty in a raging sea. But the float is heavy, the oxygen is heavy, our achieved desire is not filling us with the joy we expected. Why do we feel like there is always something more?
We sling it across our bodies and carry on back into the dirt and tunnel again. And again, and again. Where is the fulfillment? Where is the rest? I hate to tell you, but the world never stops calling. It never says, " That's enough! Here is pleasure. Here is happiness!" Instead it shouts, " More, more! You must get more, you must do more!" I don't care who you are, the world always shouts, "More!!" It's a never ending cycle of momentary pleasure and perseverance to achieve something that is never good enough .
Exhausted yet? I know I am and it's not because I worked out this morning. It's because I'm realizing the grip the world has on me. My arms are tired from tunneling, I need rest.
You may be asking, what's the point in trying? My answer is simple: stop trying. The world will never please you and you will never please the world. Stop trying! There's this man I heard of who can help. His name is Jesus and I hear He wants people like you and me. Believe it or not, but He likes you as you are- you are more than enough. You don't need to change who you are, hide what you've done, or clean up yourself- He just wants you to throw your shovel, lift you hands, and say "I can't take it anymore! Help me!". You don't have to dig anymore! He will dig after you until He reaches you. He won't stop, He won't tire, He will not give up on you. And when He comes, latch into Him as He climbs you out of the dirt and into the light of TRUE fulfillment. (It can only be found in Him, you'll see.)
My friends, your rescuer has come. In light of that, lets begin to look deeper into our hearts and lives to better understand the depth of our brokenness and our continuing need to be rescued.

Verse of Focus: " Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Romans 12:2

The Man Part Four: Kyzer

Can you hear me?
I say to you again-
Can you hear me,
Are you looking my way?

Across the table
I caught a glimpse of you
In the lenses of my beholder

For I have never seen your eyes
Your hair slicked and greasy-
Cowlicked
Your toes and the grime
Between them-
If it is there

They are all unknown to me
Behind the glossy
Paper and humming screen
So physical and flat-
A tease

Who are you?
I often ask myself,
A question you cannot answer
Your mouth has fallen silent
Your soul has soured away

And yet-
I want to know you!
Yelling, I come too late
Left to gather the pieces-
Alone
I dare not ask too much

In anguish
I see you
Leaking out from eyes
And I watch you there-
But never reach to catch

I find you in his face
Sometimes
Those moments...so sweet
So sour
But never reach to touch

For all I know of you-
I feel you all around
Your presence is upon me
Like a breath of fresh dew-
I look out at him
And there is where you are,
Thriving in his heart-
Teaching it how to love,
Making it soft again.
Glowing in his eyes
As he surveys
Ripples across the lake

And I know that you are there
Alive in these moments-
And so we meet again, my friend,
This is who you are.

And for now until the end of time
I feel sure-
This is where you'll stay

Concrete Treasure, The Man Pt. 3

The Man Part Three: Concrete Treasure

1But the truth is
I sprung from the dirt.
  drilling among worm holes
Tunneling towards the air

5I could taste it
Up through my root
Twinkling in my soul
 Content, I lingered in the grime

I remember when I reached
10The oxygen I so dearly yearned for,
How thick and heavy it felt

I was weak
Yet I grew, grew, and grew
Like someone pulling an unending string
15I sprouted
 leafed
And budded

Reaching above my fellows
Shadowed by many more

20I remember the day I bloomed
Watching myself burst
In a color I could not name
Warmth welcomed me
 I lapped it up like a savage dog

25But I am a rose
Identified by self
Perfectly petaled
Protected by thorns and
I am delightfully looked upon
30Youth is of my favor
My stem is full of water
My leaves are vibrant
Not dulled in sage


I remember the day,
35That terrible and long ago day,
When the stem I so proudly
Waved upon, became bent
And broken through

So brutal and abrupt
40At once my stem was
Cut
My livelihood, my goo,
it all came oozing out

Of all the rest
45My pride, my pride
Boasted I was chosen

I remember the gust of wind
That rattled and ripped
Wrinkling all my petals
 50Large, beige, thick masses
They passed me all about
They ruffled, they prodded, they tore
 piece by piece.

In silence I cooperated
55No thorns could help me now
Not much of me was left
Plummeting to the ground
Laid my soul to rest
Released and sent to dry

60What purpose did I have?
A mangled rose
On a concrete slab

I remember then, just
moments before the end
65New mass of beige
Cupped me in among its
Stringy masses

They lifted up my petals
Enforced them so they'd stay
70My stem was placed in water
Refreshment soon revived

So who would want a rose,
So mangled through and through?
I'll never forget the Beige that said


75I do